You are walking in a desert.You hear a bird singing.As absurd as it may seem for a bird to be pending in the desert,you are obligated to make it a tree.That's poem

Poetry contains love and holds it in high esteem, even though love always humiliates it by using it merely as a soothing after-shave lotion.

You are walking in a desert.You hear a bird singing.As absurd as it may seem for a bird to be pending in the desert,you are obligated to make it a tree.That's poem

What I try to do is to keep emotion on a tight leash; otherwise, it can never be transubstantiated into poetry.

I don't aspire, but I would be very happy if one of my poems suddenly offered someone a shady rest stop, a breather in our interminable march under the murderous, scorching heat of the superfluous.

All that we are and all that we've ever felt, words have felt it first.

If anything needs love it is reality, for it is reality that lacks it the most - I doubt that it was ever loved.