I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.

I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!

I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.

I am what I feel and think and do.

The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.