A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.

My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.

The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.

Woodcutter. Cut my shadow from me. Free me from the torment of being without fruit. Why was I born among mirrors? Day goes round and round me. The night copies me in all its stars. I want to live without my reflection. And then let me dream that ants and thistledown are my leaves and my parrots.

I put my head out of my window and see how much the wind’s knife wants to slice it off. On this unseen guillotine, I’ve placed the eyeless head of all my desires.

Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.

The day that hunger is eradicated from the earth there will be the greatest spiritual explosion the world has ever known. Humanity cannot imagine the joy that will burst into the world.