For the contemplative mind, life is merely a series of unanswerable questions. The author wrote this poetry collection when he was drunk amidst a medication of puck rock, including an over dose of Nirvana. The writings are quite raw and unstructured, but are part of the breeding process that spawns a philosophical mind.
This collection of verses is from years past when youthful naïvete played a role in my life. The writings are the ones that were not lost, thrown away, or among other items stolen within a desk drawer. Although one may classify the lines as poetry, I wrote most of them before I ever read a poem or had a true concept of "poetic structure". Furthermore, the following utterances were originally recorded on notebook paper, cocktail napkins, drink coasters, and other mediums receptive to pens and pencils. I kept the final written copies in Black Notebooks marked "Verses". The notebooks and most of the early poems are lost victims to time. These mere lines of connected words are a product of an introspective and philosophical mind. Although a psyche in a search for truth, the poetic mind is a companion to hope. I do not write poems anymore...