Blood was its Avatar and its seal.

Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.

Poetry is a life-cherishing force.

All I know is a door into the dark

...you look at me like an emergency

World is suddener than we fancy it.

We live in an old chaos of the sun.

A mighty flame follows a tiny spark.

Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am.

Literature is news which stays news.

Had we but world enough, and time...

What can be explained is not poetry.

Mon Dieu, la vie est par trop moche.

Deprivation is the mother of poetry.