Life is paradise$$$ and we are all in paradise$$$ but we refuse to see it.

Methinks I lied all winter$$$ when I swore<br/>My love was infinite$$$ if spring makes it more.

Love is a growing$$$ or full constant light$$$<br/>And his first minute$$$ after noon$$$ is night.

My life is full of broken halos.

You don't make art$$$ you find it.

I was thinking as small children think$$$ as if my thoughts or wishes had the power to reverse the narrative$$$

Maybe I was holding all the aces$$$ but what was the game?

I closed the box and put it in a closet. There is no real way to deal with everything we lose.

The Babies we were are buried$$$ and their shadows are plodding on.

We turn not older with years but newer every day.