The Soul Has Many Motions, Body One.

I Wake To Sleep, And Take My Waking Slow. I Feel My Fate In What I Cannot Fear. I Learn By Going Where I Have To Go.

My Papa's Waltz: The Whiskey On Your Breath Could Make A Small Boy Dizzy; But I Hung On Like Death: Such Waltzing Was Not Easy. We Romped Until The Pans Slid From The Kitchen Shelf; My Mother's Countenance Could Not Unfrown Itself. The Hand That Held My Wrist Was Battered On One Knuckle; At Every Step You Missed My Right Ear Scraped A Buckle. You Beat Time On My Head With A Palm Caked Hard By Dirt, Then Waltzed Me Off To Bed Still Clinging To Your Shirt.

The Self Says, I Am; The Heart Says, I Am Less; The Spirit Says, You Are Nothing.

Time Marks Us While We Are Marking Time.

What Is Madness But Nobility Of Soul At Odds With Circumstance?