But I Am Not Perfect In My

As I Walk, I Construct Perfect Sentences That I Cannot Remember Later At Home. I Don’t Know If The Ineffable Poetry Of Those Sentences Derived From What They Were Or From Their Never Having Been (written).

Life Hurls Us Like A Stone, And We Sail Through The Air Saying, "look At Me Move.

Oh Salty Sea, How Much Of Your Salt Is Tears From Portugal?

The Slope Takes You To The Windmill, But Effort Takes You Nowhere.

The End Is Low, Like All Quantitative Ends, Personal Or Not, And It Can Be Attained And Verified.