The Walls Are The Publishers Of The

For Sailors Who Love The Wind, Memory Is A Good Port Of Departure.

A Pretty Move, For The Love Of God.

Scientists Say That Human Beings Are Made Of Atoms, But A Little Bird Told Me That We Are Also Made Of Stories

The Ball Laughs, Radiant, In The Air. He Brings Her Down, Puts Her To Sleep, Showers Her With Compliments, Dances With Her, And Seeing Such Things Never Before Seen His Admirers Pity Their Unborn Grandchildren Who Will Never See Them.

The Poet, Distracted By Politics, Asks Of Poetry That It Make Itself Useful Like Metal Or Flour, That It Get Ready To Stain Its Face With Coal Dust And Fight Body To Body.