Money Buys Everything Except Love, Personality, Freedom,

The Woman Named Tomorrow Sits With A Hairpin In Her Teeth And Takes Her Time

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar, And There Is A Hippopotamus In Me That Wants To Wallow In The Mud.

Sometime They'll Give A War And Nobody Will Come.

Poetry Is The Establishment Of A Metaphorical Link Between White Butterfly-wings And The Scraps Of Torn-up Love-letters.

I Decided I Would Go To Chicago And Try My Luck As A Writer After Those Eight Months As A Fireman.