Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow

The Buffaloes Are Gone. And Those Who Saw The Buffaloes Are Gone.

If The Facts Are Against You, Argue The Law. If The Law Is Against You, Argue The Facts. If The Law And The Facts Are Against You, Pound The Table And Yell Like Hell

Poetry Is A Theorem Of A Yellow-silk Handkerchief Knotted With Riddles, Sealed In A Balloon Tied To The Tail Of A Kite Flying In A White Wind Against A Blue Sky In Spring.

Time Is The Coin Of Our Live. We Must Take Care How We Spend It.

Lay Me On An Anvil, O God. Beat Me And Hammer Me Into A Steel Spike.