Arithmetic Is Where Numbers Fly Like Pigeons

Poetry Is A Projection Across Silence Of Cadences Arranged To Break That Silence With Definite Intentions Of Echoes, Syllables, Wave Lengths.

We Live In The Time Of The Colossal Upright Oblong.

There Is No Song To Your Singing.

Poetry: A Sliver Of The Moon Lost In The Belly Of A Golden Frog.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.