I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No

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

When I Was Writing Pretty Poor Poetry, This Girl With Midnight Black Hair Told Me To Go On.

I Doubt If You Can Have A Truly Wild Party Without Liquor.

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

Poetry Is A Series Of Explanations Of Life, Fading Off Into Horizons Too Swift For Explanations.