Summer night--even the starsare whispering to each other.

no’ might make them angrybut it will make you free.

Souls grow on bones but die beneath bankers' hours...

In the prison of his daysTeach the free man how to praise

[Poetry] is the liquid voice that can wear through stone.

It was as important to live poetically as to write poems.

Men had always been the reciters of poetry in the desert.

ad breath and butt smell; that is prison, in a nutshell.

Only in Russia poetry is respected--it gets people killed.

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly

Why love what you will lose?There is nothing else to love.

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations.

I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

from my chair i can see the street and it seems depressing

The poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully.