The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives

Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.

My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.

I burn the way money burns.

Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.

All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.