Poetry: A Sliver Of The Moon Lost

Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow To Dance.

Drum On Your Drums, Batter On Your Banjos, Sob On The Long Cool Winding Saxophones. Go To It, O Jazzmen.

Time Is The Coin Of Life. Only You Can Determine How It Will Be Spent.

I Fell In Love, Not Deep, But I Fell Several Times And Then Fell Out.

There Have Been As Many Varieties Of Socialists As There Are Wild Birds That Fly In The Woods And Sometimes Go Up And On Through The Clouds.