Time’s relativity is considered and abandoned, for the more revelatory experiences of starlightin strands, and pearly floors that span as far as absolute compassion...

Who is so fancy, esoterica saves the day?Who is the Yogi, Namaste?

I wonder what became of you, your JohnnyRotten skin, no Emerald City eyes.You'd have been a beauty if you let inferiority steam your glasses with its candor, sans laughter.

There’s a pressure at all hours of the day only a poem can assuage.

You think it’s a game?Unintelligible? Ha!Envision no spoons.This is serious.It is a matter of joyversus emptiness.

...we’re not even really hiking, more like meandering in cinematic light.

He may take long walksin the raining darkalmost aimlesslyto a spot of soaked grassin a neighbor’s open field.He’s decided this is the placefor you and him to meet again.

...you hold a poemthat functions half as personalnote and half as telescopeto the heightsawaiting us all.

Would it be enough to rock on a stormless sea with each our separate memories tuned to the state of the sinking sun?

Even the bees I'd swear were sent to protect us in the delicate business of hives and honey are stung to silence by the news that something winged has lost its flight.

I write for pages, get lost in the mezzaninehidden from stages.

Distance is an outer phenomenon. In the inner world, everything is connected with love.

Experience demands that man is the only animal which devours his own kind, for I can apply no milder term to the general prey of the rich on the poor.

We are humiliated by what is powerful and mean, but awed by what is powerful and noble.

He'd been coiled like a snake for years and the tension had gone slack and when he was ready to spring the spring wasn't there, but it could be recoiled.

Running Makes you more spiritually aware and in tune with your inner-self.

May you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart. Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of one's life?

See with eyes unclouded by hate.

After the age of 80, everything reminds you of something else.

The mind's ability to rationalize it's own shortcomings is unlimited; I am no exception.

Steve Jackson is a born storyteller. He makes you sweat. . .and turn the page.