Recognition of one's fellows is distorted when money is prioritized as value itself.

The true poem rests between the words.

Sex in space (Earth included) far exceeds our wildest imaginations, and is more than a big bang, that's for sure, it's cosmic.

Remembrance of our kiss brings not your lips nor mine to mind. The flesh can only envy consumption so divine.

To the degree it is efficient, a spaceship is elegant and beautiful.

Purity of heart is blooming the same colors in the middle of the wilderness when no one sees you.

A poet's first contract is with truth.