Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts.

Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.

Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.

You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.

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

Nothing happens unless first we dream.

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