Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.

Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.

What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.

Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.

Give me hunger, pain and want, Shut me out with shame and failure From your doors of gold and fame, Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger! But leave me a little love.

The fog comes on little cat feet.

Whenever a people or an institution forget its hard beginnings, it is beginning to decay.