There Are Few Things In The World

I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me.

The Clock Ticked With Empty Urgency, As Though Trying To Catch Up With The Time. In The Street A Siren Howled.

We Don't All Dig Shakespeare Uniformly, Or Even 'little Red Riding Hood.' The Understanding Of Art Depends Finally Upon One's Willingness To Extend One's Humanity And One's Knowledge Of Human Life.

Meaning Grows In The Mind, But The Shape And Form Of The Act Remains.

I Blundered Into Writing.