A Liar Is A Liar And Lives

Poetry Is An Enumeration Of Birds, Bees, Babies, Butterflies, Bugs, Bambinos, Babayagas, And Bipeds, Beating Their Way Up Bewildering Bastions.

Time Is The Coin Of Your Life. You Spend It. Do Not Allow Others To Spend It For You.

Poetry Is A Tracing Of The Trajectories Of A Finite Sound To The Infinite Points Of Its Echoes.

Corn Wind In The Fall, Come Off The Black Lands, Come Off The Whisper Of The Silk Hangers, The Lap Of The Flat Spear Leaves.

A Man May Be Born, But In Order To Be Born He Must First Die, And In Order To Die He Must First Awake.