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

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

And those who say, "I'll try anything once," often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.

The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.

Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it.

Poetry is a puppet-show, where riders of skyrockets and divers of sea fathoms gossip about the sixth sense and the fourth dimension.