Every Blunder Behind Us Is Giving A

The Machine Yes The Machine Never Wastes Anybody's Time Never Watches The Foreman Never Talks Back.

Yesterday Is Done. Tomorrow Never Comes. Today Is Here. If You Don't Know What To Do, Sit Still And Listen. You May Hear Something. Nobody Knows.

Poetry Is A Sequence Of Dots And Dashes, Spelling Depths, Crypts, Cross-lights, And Moon Wisps.

Poetry Is The Journal Of A Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air.

Poetry Is The Arithmetic Of The Easiest Way And The Primrose Path, Matched Up With Foam-flanked Horses, Bloody Knuckles, And Bones, On The Hard Ways To The Stars.