The Soul Is Not A Soul, Has

Extreme Patience And Persistence Are Required, Yet Everybody Succeeds At This Before Being Handed The Surprise Box Lunch Of The Rest Of His Life.

The Evening Light Was Like Honey In The Trees When You Left Me And Walked To The End Of The Street Where The Sunset Abruptly Ended. The Wedding-cake Drawbridge Lowered Itself To The Fragile Forget-me-not Flower. You Climbed Aboard. Burnt Horizons Suddenly Paved With Golden Stones, Dreams I Had, Including Suicide, Puff Out The Hot-air Balloon Now. It Is Bursting, It Is About To Burst

The First Year Was Like Icing. Then The Cake Started To Show Through.

I Often Wonder If I Am Suffering From Some Mental Dysfunction Because Of How Weird And Baffling My Poetry Seems To So Many People And Sometimes To Me Too.

Will Occur As Time Grows More Open About It.