The Sea Is Always The Same: And

And All Poets Love Dust And Mist Because All The Last Answers. Go Running Back To Dust And Mist.

Poetry Is A Fresh Morning Spider-web Telling A Story Of Moonlit Hours Of Weaving And Waiting During A Night.

A Man May Be Born, But In Order To Be Born He Must First Die, And In Order To Die He Must First Awake.

God, Let Me Remember All Good Losers.

We Live In The Time Of The Colossal Upright Oblong.