He That Would Eat Of Love Must

To A Young Poet Time Cannot Break The Bird's Wing From The Bird. Bird And Wing Together Go Down, One Feather. No Thing That Ever Flew, Not The Lark, Not You, Can Die As Others Do.

There Is No God. But It Does Not Matter. Man Is Enough.

Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The Past. Blown From The Dark Hill Hither To My Door Three Flakes, Then Four Arrive, Then Many More.

I Would Blossom If I Were A Rose.

Upon This Gifted Age, In Its Dark Hour Falls From The Sky A Meteoric Shower Of Facts; They Lie Unquestioned, Uncombined. Wisdom Enough To Leech Us Of Our Ill Is Daily Spun, But There Exists No Loom To Weave It Into Fabric.