In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: "Live in the layers, not on the litter." Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.

Poetry is the enemy of the poem.

Be what you are. Give What is yours to give. Have Style. Dare.

The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking it is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark and not to turn

The poem in the head is always perfect. Resistance begins when you try to convert it into language.

The universe is a continuous web. Touch it at any point and the whole web quivers.

In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: "Live in the layers, not on the litter." Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.