What if someone gave a war & Nobody came? / Life would ring the bells of Ecstasy and Forever be Itself again.
Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths.
Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.
Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.