Enough Small Empty Boxes Thrown Into A

Poetry Is The Journal Of The Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air. Poetry Is A Search For Syllables To Shoot At The Barriers Of The Unknown And The Unknowable. Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How Rainbows Are Made And Why They Go Away.

Who Else Speaks For The Family Of Man? They Are In Tune And Step With Constellations Of Universal Law.

My Name Is Truth And I Am The Most Elusive Captive In The Universe.

The Woman Named Tomorrow Sits With A Hairpin In Her Teeth And Takes Her Time

My First Stringed Instrument Was A Cigar Box Banjo Where I Cut And Turned The Pegs And Strung The Wires Myself.