The Exchange

All human activity is an exchange.



There is a monstrously large statue of a frightfully naked, and awesome figure standing with its face to the wall in a deserted warehouse in Nicosia, except no one knows where it came from, and no one has ever seen it.



When you’ve graduated beyond simply bifocal sight, you personally come upon the startling realization that INDEED, everything basically indicates the existence of everything else.



And the young convoluted traveler cried out, “Dear Mother, dear, oh dear Mother, do not today my trapeze wash, for on it a splendid journey I now must take!”



Heard a fellow recently say, “The biggest problem with them City poets is they tend to take every single little thing that happens as ‘special,’ which I guess may or may not be justified, but still…to take EVERY little thing and moment as being so…oh, I don’t know.  I guess City folks and poets have their own little ways of doing things.”