The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.

Time says hush: by the gong of time you live. Listen and you hear time saying you were silent long before you came to life and you will again be silent long after you leave it, why not be a little silent now? Hush yourself, noisy little man. Time hushes all: the gong of time rang for you to come out of the hush and you were born. The gong of time will ring for you to go back to the same hush you came from. Winners and losers, the weak and the strong, those who say little and try to say it well, and those who babble and prattle their lives away, time hushes all.

POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.

Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.

Every blunder behind us is giving a cheer for us, and only for those who were willing to fail are the dangers and splendors of life.

Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.