Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow

An Ambition Is A Little Creeper That Creeps And Creeps In Your Heart Night And Day, Singing A Little Song, "come And Find Me, Come And Find Me."

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

In These Times You Have To Be An Optimist To Open Your Eyes When You Awake In The Morning.

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.

Poetry Is A Slipknot Tightened Around A Time-beat Of One Thought, Two Thoughts, And A Last Interweaving Thought There Is Not Yet A Number For.