Anything More Than The Truth Would Have

Any Work Of Art Must First Of All Tell A Story.

The Sidelong Glance Is What You Depend On.

But These Are Flowers That Fly And All But Sing: And Now From Having Ridden Out Desire They Lie Closed Over In The Wind And Cling Where Wheels Have Freshly Sliced The April Mire.

Before I Built A Wall I'd Ask To Know What I Was Walling In Or Walling Out.

If We Couldn't Laugh We Would All Go Insane.