When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.

I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

I pray this winter be gentle and kind - a season of rest from the wheel of the mind.

Poetry is paying attention to life when all the world seems asleep to its beauties and truths.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.