In the night the cabbages catch at the moon, the leaves drip silver, the rows of cabbages are a series of little silver waterfalls in the moon.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry is a kinetic arrangement of static syllables.
Money buys everything except love, personality, freedom, immortality, silence, peace.
When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.