It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is "Whatever you do, don't be boring."
Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.