Life songs of ages, throbbing in my blood, have danced the rhythm of the tide and flood.

All the poems have wolves in them. All but one. The most beautiful one of all. She dances in a ring of fire and throws off the challenge with a shrug.

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun.

The Night is young & full of rest, I can't describe the way she's dress'd, She'll pander to some strange requests, Anything that you suggest, Anything to please her guest.