Alike and ever alike, we are on all continents in the need of love, food, clothing, work, speech, worship, sleep, games, dancing, fun. From tropics to arctics humanity live with these needs so alike, so inexorably alike.

Poetry is the silence and speech between a wet struggling root of a flower and a sunlit blossom of that flower.

Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts.

God, let me remember all good losers.

Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.

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