Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

Poetry Is The Capture Of A Picture, A Song, Or A Flair, In A Deliberate Prism Of Words.

The Sea Speaks A Language Polite People Never Repeat. It Is A Colossal Scavenger Slang And Has No Respect.

What If Someone Gave A War & Nobody Came? / Life Would Ring The Bells Of Ecstasy And Forever Be Itself Again.

Poetry Is An Art Practiced With The Terribly Plastic Material Of Human Language.