You can take off your hats now, gentlemen, and I think perhaps you'd better.

Honesty is as rare as a man without self-pity.

Go play with the towns you have built of blocks, The towns where you would have bound me! I sleep in my earth like a tired fox, And my bufdfalo have found me.

Dreaming men are haunted men.

Money is sullen And wisdom is sly, But youth is the pollen That blows through the sky And does not ask why.

Ironically the blog has re-opened the essay as a good form for me. I like to look and make commentary! If I sense my essays are good, I try to resubmit to another place in pulp and several of them have been variously published in newspapers and magazines.

I am tired of loving a foreign muse.