A river runs through life, it carries you along and you may steer and you may row, but it travels only one direction and the destination is inevitable. The trip is the thing.
May 13, 2003
I come here today to embark upon a monologue with the world. Mind vomit, dream droppings and visonary illusions may make their way here from time to time. Read with care, courage and caution, for the Brazospoet is plural.
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