I’m thinking - inking words across the page - age, and rage in season, shouldn’t reason
against the curiosity of hope – “ope thy heart to know What rainbows teach and sunsets
show? ”- owe Emerson a debt, for inspiration (though a bit cliché) – Hey, sometimes truth
is better stoned – owned or not – ought to bring release to the thrower – owe her no more
than time and place – Just stand - and face the chatter from her heart – Art.