Like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free!!

I almost went to bed without remembering the four white violets I put in the button-hole of your green sweater and how i kissed you then and you kissed me shy as though I’d never been your lover

You've got a deadline. Well, I do, too: death.

I always thought that poetry is the verdict that others give to a certain kind of writing. So to call yourself a poet is a kind of dangerous description. It's for others; it's for others to use.

Maybe there's a god above but the only thing I learned from love was how to shoot at somebody who outdrew you.

Reality is one of the possibilities I cannot afford to ignore

Don't dwell on what has passed away or what is yet to be.