Enough small empty boxes thrown into a big empty box fill it full.
Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.
Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.