Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.

Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.

Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.

There have been as many varieties of socialists as there are wild birds that fly in the woods and sometimes go up and on through the clouds.

Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

There is a music for lonely hearts nearly always. If the music dies down there is a silence. Almost the same as the movement of music. To know silence perfectly is to know music.

What if someone gave a war & Nobody came? / Life would ring the bells of Ecstasy and Forever be Itself again.