That is our ‘pointed task. Love & die.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatedly) 'Ever to confess you're bored means you have no inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored.

Two daiquiris withdrew into a corner of a gorgeous room and one told the other a lie.

Them lady poets must not marry, pal.

Wishin' was dyin' but I gotta make it all this way to that bed on these feet.

Offering Dragons quarter is no good, they regrow all their parts and come on again. They have to be killed.

You should always be trying to write a poem you are unable to write, a poem you lack the technique, the language, the courage to achieve. Otherwise you're merely imitating yourself, going nowhere, because that's always easiest.