If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.

-Before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were.

(and from my thighs which shrug and pant a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she carries in a gesture of her hips)

yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skilfully curled) all worlds

...remember one thing only: that it's you-nobody else-who determines your destiny and decides your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.

Well, write poetry, for God's sake, it's the only thing that matters.

since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid