Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?

After one has abandoned a belief in God, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption.

Poetry is the scholar's art.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.

All poetry is experimental poetry.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

Like the Sweetness of Gardenias Mother, you died 15 years ago. pain, a rapier, cut until, finally, there was just peace like the sweetness of gardenias in the crystal vase on your yellow kitchen table. so fragrant. your voice lingers in my ear reminding, scolding, guiding a pleasant mantra of tenderness, magic words that move my palms, your palms. together we are molding, helping, creating. in the mirror I see your eyes, your beautiful brown circles looking back, so radiant. "don't forget me," you whispered the day you died. I won't.