Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.

The past is a bucket of ashes

Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.

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

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

To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.

All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.