The first step in the journey is to lose your way.
Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.
I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.
Prose is walking; poetry is flying
I have always intended to live forever; but not until now, to live now.
When I sleepwalk into your room, and pick you up, and hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me hard, as if clinging could save us. I think you think I will never die, I think I exude to you the permanence of smoke or stars, even as my broken arms heal themselves around you.