The World Is Beautiful But Not Sayable.

A Poem Is An Instant Of Lucidity In Which The Entire Organism Participates.

I Left Parts Of Myself Everywhere, The Way Absent-minded People Leave Gloves And Umbrellas Whose Colors Are Sad From Dispensing So Much Bad Luck

The Plain Truth Is We Are Going To Die. Here I Am, A Teeny Spec Surrounded By Boundless Space And Time, Arguing With The Whole Of Creation, Shaking My Fist, Sputtering, Growing Even Eloquent At Times, And Then-poof! I Am Gone. Swept Off Once And For All. I Think That Is Very, Very Funny.

Poetry Is An Orphan Of Silence.

The Stars Know Everything, So We Try To Read Their Minds. As Distant As They Are, We Choose To Whisper In Their Presence.