Forever Is Composed Of Nows.

The Brain Is Just The Weight Of God-- For--heft Them--pound For Pound-- And They Will Differ--if They Do-- As Syllable From Sound

Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.

To Lose What We Have Never Owned Might Seem An Eccentric Bereavement, But Presumption Has Its Own Affliction As Well As Claim.

If I Read A Book And It Makes My Whole Body So Cold No Fire Can Ever Warm Me, I Know That Is Poetry.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior — For Doors.