Poetry: A Sliver Of The Moon Lost

Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow To Dance.

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

It Is Necessary ... For A Man To Go Away By Himself ... To Sit On A Rock ... And Ask, 'who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?

I'll Die Propped Up In Bed Trying To Do A Poem About America.

Why Does A Hearse Horse Snicker, Hauling A Lawyer Away?