Where are the feasts we were promised? Where is the wine, the new wine, dying on the vine.

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.

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

I can make the earth stop in its tracks. I made the blue cars go away. I can make myself invisible or small. I can become gigantic & reach the farthest things. I can change the course of nature. I can place myself anywhere in space or time. I can summon the dead. I can perceive events on other worlds, in my deepest inner mind, & in the minds of others. I can I am.

I'll never wake up in a good mood again. I'm tired of these stinky boots.

I pressed her thigh and death smiled.