Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.

Money is a kind of poetry.

Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.

Poetry has to be something more than a conception of the mind. It has to be a revelation of nature. Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.

Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.

The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.

Make the visible a little hard to see.