Rest at pale evening... A tall slim tree... Night coming tenderly Black like me

I asked you, baby, If you understood- You told me that you didn't, But you thought you would.

Folks, I'm telling you, birthing is hard and dying is mean- so get yourself a little loving in between.

Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.

For poems are like rainbows; they escape you quickly.

Sometimes a crumb falls From the tables of joy, Sometimes a bone Is flung. To some people Love is given, To others Only heaven.

Life is a system of half-truths and lies, Opportunistic, convenient evasion.