It Was Here We Turned The Coffee

The Dead Hold In Their Hands Only What They Have Given Away.

Where Was I Going? I Puzzled And Wondered About It Til I Actually Enjoyed The Puzzlement And Wondering.

There Is A Music For Lonely Hearts Nearly Always. If The Music Dies Down There Is A Silence. Almost The Same As The Movement Of Music. To Know Silence Perfectly Is To Know Music.

I Am Still Studying Verbs And The Mystery Of How They Connect Nouns. I Am More Suspicious Of Adjectives Than At Any Other Time In All My Born Days.

Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How Rainbows Are Made And Why They Go Away.