People Ask Me Why I Connected. It

I Cannot Speculate On What Our Cluttered Mind Will Save- Sleepy Sundays, Or A Nosebleed After Love. I Know Only The Dying Heart Needs The Nourishment Of Memory To Live Beyond Too Many Winters.

People Ask Me Why I Connected. It Was Presumptuous Of Me To Say, But I'm Everyman. The Difference Is I Put My Thoughts Into Words.

Love Is A Sweet Thing Caught A Momentand Held In A Golden Eye.

A Poet Can't Afford To Be Aloof. The Tools Of His Trade Are The People He Bumps Up Against.

Strangers Are Just Friends Waiting To Happen