Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves

Joy Is For The Simple Or The Great To Feel, Neither Of Which We Are.

Most Things May Never Happen: This One Will.

Death Is No Different Whined At Than Withstood.

I Never Think Of Poetry Or The Poetry Scene, Only Separate Poems Written By Individuals.

Uncontradicting Solitude Supports Me On Its Giant Palm; And Like A Sea-anemone Or Simple Snail, There Cautiously Unfolds, Emerges, What I Am.