Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language.
The end of a thing, is never the end, something is always being born like a year of a baby.
Poems come out of wonder, not out of knowing.
these hips have never been enslaved, they go where they want to go they do what they want to do. these hips are mighty hips. these hips are magic hips
may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back
You cannot play for safety and make art.