The Rest Of My Days I Spend

Thats The Way It Is With Poetry: When It Is Incomprehensible It Seems Profound, And When You Understand It, It Is Only Ridiculous.

It Is Necessary To Reteach A Thing Its Loveliness, To Put A Hand On Its Brow Of The Flower And Retell It In Words And In Touch It Is Lovely Until It Flowers Again From Within, Of Self-blessing.

I Will Find That Special Person Who Is Wrong For Me In Just The Right Way.

To Me, Poetry Is Somebody Standing Up, So To Speak, And Saying, With As Little Concealment As Possible, What It Is For Him Or Her To Be On Earth At This Moment

Kiss The Mouth Which Tells You, Here, Here Is The World. This Mouth. This Laughter. These Temple Bones.