Time Is The Coin Of Life. Only

I Learned You Can't Trust The Judgment Of Good Friends.

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.

I Take You And Pile High The Memories. Death Will Break Her Claws On Some I Keep.

The Dead Hold In Their Hands Only What They Have Given Away.

Poetry Is An Exhibit Of One Pendulum Connecting With Other And Unseen Pendulums Inside And Outside The One Seen.