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

I knew I would read all kinds of books and try to get at what it is that makes good writers good. But I made no promises that I would write books a lot of people would like to read.

Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

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

You remember some bedrooms you have slept in. There are bedrooms you like to remember and others you would like to forget.

POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.

A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.