I Am! I Have Come Through! I

The Shovel Is The Brother To The Gun.

Under The Summer Roses When The Flagrant Crimson Lurks In The Dusk Of The Wild Red Leaves, Love, With Little Hands, Comes And Touches You With A Thousand Memories, And Asks You Beautiful, Unanswerable Questions.

There Will Be A Rusty Gun On The Wall, Sweetheart, The Rifle Grooves Curling With Flakes Of Rust. A Spider Will Make A Silver String Nest In The Darkest, Warmest Corner Of It.

Poetry Is A Diary Kept By A Sea Creature Who Lives On Land And Wishes He Could Fly.

There Are Dreams Stronger Than Death. Men And Women Die Holding These Dreams.