Creators of failed destiny, imaginary train riding hobo's from another timezone, delapidated homes with a wise word of caution to share, poems that write themselves upon the fresh eyescape of a blind orphan, all of the artists who's names I write on scraps of paper and fold to place in my pocket never to be seen again, the crows holding congress above the twisted branch trees upon the shoulders of the run down cemetery, the tree that dies realizing that it will become a tomb for the neglected limbs of a novel left half unwritten, childhood friends that have become ghosts in the mirrored mindscape of an increasingly jaded artist......oh yeah, and the lorax..he's a pretty intense little guy...