You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.

Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes, spelling depths, crypts, cross-lights, and moon wisps.

Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it.

Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here. If you don't know what to do, sit still and listen. You may hear something. Nobody knows.

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

Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Nothing happens... but first a dream.