Whatever you have to say, leave The roots on, let them Dangle And the dirt Just to make clear Where they come from.

Fact is based upon vulgar matter.

We all want what's been suddenly disallowed.

I was playing catch with the European audience.

This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.

The heroes of the present will retreat to the imitation they are anyhow.

The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.