Music Is The Emotional Life

You've Got A Deadline. Well, I Do, Too: Death.

How Bitter Were The Prozac Pills Of The Last Few Hundred Mornings

Poetry Is A Verdict Rather Than An Intention.

When You've Fallen On The Highway / And You're Lying In The Rain, / And They Ask You How You're Doing / Of Course You'll Say You Can't Complain.

It's Hard To Hold The Hand Of Anyone Who Is Reaching For The Sky Just To Surrender