Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
Back of every mistaken venture and defeat is the laughter of wisdom, if you listen.
The past is a bucket of ashes
I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.