Tumbling-hair picker of buttercups violets dandelions And the big bullying daisies through the field wonderful with eyes a little sorry Another comes also picking flowers

Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.

What if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two, peels forever out of his grave, and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?

It is with roses and locomotives (not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls) that my poems are competing.

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses

The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else.

...and down they forgot as up they grew.