When Disaster Waves, I Try Not To

Nostalgia Paints A Smile On The Stony Face Of The Past.

Title Deeds Generally Outlast Poems.

The Harp Is An Insipid Instrument--no Good For Dancing, Feasting, Or Marching, Only For Sitting Primly In A Parlor Or On A Cloud.

The Beginning, Middle, And End Are Parodied, Reversed, And Hidden By Modernism, But Not Abandoned.

Truth Can Remain Silent. Lies Must Be Spoken.