Time Is A Great Teacher, Who Can

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.

There Are Ten Men In Me And I Do Not Know Or Understand One Of Them.

And How Should A Beautiful, Ignorant Stream Of Water Know It Heads For An Early Release — Out Across The Desert, Running Toward The Gulf, Below Sea Level, To Murmur Its Lullaby, And See The Imperial Valley Rise Out Of Burning Sand With Cotton Blossoms, Wheat, Watermelons, Roses, How Should It Know?

The Scholars And Poets Of An Earlier Time Can Be Read Only With A Dictionary To Help.

My Name Is Truth And I Am The Most Elusive Captive In The Universe.