[P]oetry resembles metaphysics: one does not mind one's own, but one does not like anyone else's.

I was compared to Charles Bukowski yesterday. It was the best and worst compliment I've ever gotten.

You had this expression on your face, like you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth.

If I’m not around I hope you’ll remember me and together we will hold on to our favorite song.

ush of pine scent (once upon a time),the unlicensed convictionthere ought to be another wayof sayingthis.

I know the placeI know the place.It is true.Everything we doCorrects the spaceBetween death and meAnd you.

...if you do not even understand what words say,how can you expect to pass judgementon what words conceal?

Poems have ideas. The ideas of poems come out of their emotions and their emotions are carried on images.

You give but little when you give of your possessions.It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.

A book,a book fullof human touches,of shirts,a bookwithout loneliness, with menand tools,a bookis victory.

I don't love her anymoreSoWhy should I walkNightsBy the tavernWhere I drankEvery nightThinking of her?

Hay menos tiempo que lugar, no obstante, hay lugares que duran un minuto y para cierto tiempo no ha lugar.

I arise from dreams of thee,And a spirit in my feetHas led me- who knows how?To thy chamber-window, Sweet!

Don't sign your namebetween worlds,surmountthe manifold of meanings,trust the tearstain,learn to live.

I never purposely diss or anything in my work. I just bleed unto my paper and folks can read if they want.