» I have written some poetry that I don't understand myself.
» Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
» Poetry is the achievement of the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
» Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the sky.
» The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.
» Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
» Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
» A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on.
» And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release - out across the desert, running toward the Gulf, below sea level, to murmur its lullaby, and see the Imperial Valley rise out of burning sand with cotton blossoms, wheat, watermelons, roses, how should it know?
» Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.