Peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
The word and the shadow of the word / makes a thing both itself and something else / till we are metaphors and not ourselves . . .
Damn wind shift sudden as a woman mind.
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.
The English language is nobody's special property.
When poems are no good they don't make any sense.