The True Poem Rests Between The Words.

The News Is Disease In Disguise Pretending To Be Information.

Recognition Of One's Fellows Is Distorted When Money Is Prioritized As Value Itself.

Anger Is A Wound Gone Mad.

I Didn't Have A Barbie Doll, So I Played With Eternity.

It Is Interesting To Note That Poetry, A Literary Device Whose Very Construct Involves The Use Of Words, Is Itself The Word Of Choice By Persons Grasping To Describe Something So Beautiful It Is Marvelously Ineffable.