Poetry is a plan for a slit in the face of a bronze fountain goat and the path of fresh drinking water.

Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

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

I had been keeping an off eye on the advertising field, thinking I might become an idea man and a copywriter.

Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.

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

There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.