Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly.
I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
Mood can be as important as sense.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.
Love your self's self where it lives.
Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
I've grown tired of love You are the trouble with me I watch you walk right by
Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.
We are all writing God's poem.
There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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