I'd call it love if love didn't take so many years but lust too is a jewel.

For now, poetry has the capacity - in its own ways and by its own means - to remind us of something we are forbidden to see.

In this disintegrative, technologically-manic time, when public language is so debased, poetry continues to matter because it's the art that reintegrates words, speech, voice, breath, music, bodily tempo, and the powers of the imagination.

Any woman's death diminishes me.

No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees, sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air, dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding, our animal passion rooted in the city.

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.

But nothing less than the most radical imagination will carry us beyond this place, beyond the mere struggle for survival, to that lucid recognition of our possibilities which will keep us impatient, and unresigned to mere survival.