Listen To The Voice That Speaks Inside

I Am Writing These Poems From Inside A Lion.

A Spider Lives Inside My Head Who Weaves A Strange And Wondrous Web Of Silken Threads And Silver Strings To Catch All Sorts Of Flying Things, Like Crumbs Of Thoughts And Bits Of Smiles And Specks Of Dried-up Tears, And Dust Of Dreams That Catch And Cling For Years And Years And Years...

This Boat That We Just Built Is Just Fine - And Don't Try To Tell Us It's Not The Sides And The Back Are Divine - It's The Bottom I Guess We Forgot

This Bridge Will Take You Halfway There - The Last Few Steps You Will Have To Take Yourself.

Let Us Leave This Place Where The Smoke Blows Black And The Dark Street Winds And Bends. Past The Pits Where The Asphalt Flowers Grow We Shall Walk With A Walk That Is Measured And Slow, And Watch Where The Chalk-white Arrows Go To The Place Where The Sidewalk Ends.