Turn on the dream you lived through the unwavering gaze. It is as you thought: the living burn. In the floating days may you discover grace..

I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way..

I love to go out in late September among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries to eat blackberries for breakfast, the stalks very prickly, a pen….

The first step in the journey is to lose your way..

Is there a mechanism of death, that so mutilates existence no one, gets over it not even the dead?.

Second-hand gloves will become lovely again, their memories are what give them the need for other hands. And the desolation of lovers is the same: th….

Kiss the mouth which tells you, here, here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones..

When I sleepwalk into your room, and pick you up, and hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me hard, as if clinging could save us. I think you t….

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 ….

The only sense we still respect is eyesight, probably because it is so closely attached to the brain. Go into any American house at random, you will….

Let our scars fall in love..

Little sleep's-head sprouting hair in the moonlight, when I come back we will go out together, we will walk out together among, the ten thousand thin….

Sometimes it is necessary To reteach a thing its loveliness.

Never mind. The self is the least of it. Let our scars fall in love..

The bud stands for all things, even for those things that don't flower.

I have always intended to live forever; but not until now, to live now..

Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous..

the rest of my days I spend wandering: wondering what, anyway, was that sticky infusion, that rank flavor of blood, that poetry, by which I lived?.

I start off but I don't know where I'm going; I try this avenue and that avenue, that turns out to be a dead end, this is a dead end, and so on. The ….

Go so deep into yourself, you speak for everyone..

Prose is walking; poetry is flying.