What is poetry?
The gentle touch of words...

Ready to swing
from a string...

Time, that thing--it is always changing
--itself, and all else, of course...

"Tired" is no excuse
except perhaps not to play the frivolous...

Why now the mist fills my nostrils
why there is a mint freshness in those passages...

Author's Note: One really must read this poem out...
The wind rushes in swirling spirals...

This was originally written to be a song, but I've...
I remember that time long ago...

Who are you?
What is your place...

One last gasp before the x's fall on my head
before the z's float up and get caught in the fan...

The question is this
The question: is this...

There is a river here
and I am on the wrong side, so I'm told...

Nothing is the same as anything
but anything is not the same as nothing...