Enough Small Empty Boxes Thrown Into A

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

The Buffaloes Are Gone. And Those Who Saw The Buffaloes Are Gone.

Now Is The Time. It Is Never Too Late To Start Something.

I've Written Some Poetry I Don't Understand Myself.

I Decided I Would Go To Chicago And Try My Luck As A Writer After Those Eight Months As A Fireman.