If What We Worship Fail Us, Still

Poetry, Far More Than Fiction, Reveals The Soul Of Humanity.

All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords, You Can Cut, Or You Can Drug, With Words.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.

Underneath My Stiffened Gown Is The Softness Of A Woman Bathing In A Marble Basin, A Basin In The Midst Of Hedges Grown So Thick, She Cannot See Her Lover Hiding, But She Guesses He Is Near, And The Sliding Of The Water Seems The Stroking Of A Dear Hand Upon Her.

Youth Condemns; Maturity Condones