What, After All,is A Halo? It's Only

The Moon Is Nothing But A Circumambulating Aphrodisiac Divinely Subsidized To Provoke The World Into A Rising Birth-rate

Poetry Is The Language In Which Man Explores His Own Amazement... Says Heaven And Earth In One Word... Speaks Of Himself And His Predicament As Though For The First Time.

The Skirts Of The Gods Drag In Our Mud. We Feel The Touch And Take It To Be A Kiss.

In Our Plain Defects We Already Know The Brotherhood Of Man.

We Must Each Find Our Separate Meaning In The Persuasion Of Our Days Until We Meet In The Meaning Of The World.