Hog butcher for the world, Tool maker, stacker of wheat, Player with railroads and the nation's freight handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of big shoulders.

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

Come on, you Do you want to live forever?

Time is the coin of life. Only you can determine how it will be spent.

What if someone gave a war & Nobody came? / Life would ring the bells of Ecstasy and Forever be Itself again.

I have become infected, now that I see how beautifully a book is coming out of all this.

I wrote poems in my corner of the Brooks Street station. I sent them to two editors who rejected them right off. I read those letters of rejection years later and I agreed with those editors.