You are the one I am lit for.Come with your rod that twists and is a serpent.I am the bush. I am burning I am not consumed.

During our first date,I wanted to hold your hand so badI almost cut mine offand threw it at youto see if you would catch it

Thus I, gone forth, as spiders do,In spider’s web a truth discerning,Attach one silken strand to youFor my returning.

I have been to lots of partiesand acted perfectly disgracefulbut I never actually collapsedoh Lana Turner we love you get up

I heard a bird congratulating itselfall day for being a jay.Nobody cared. But it was gladall over again, and said so, again.

We left you there, lonely,Beauty your power,Wisdom your watchman,To hold the clay tower.from 'The Tale of the Tiger Tree

O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start;You shall love your crooked neighbour With your crooked heart.

Behold yon rough and flinty roadWhere youth, now youth no more,Gropes whining, seeking crumbs of loavesHe cast away of yore.

The artistic reward for refuting the received national tradition is liberation. The price is homelessness. Interior exile.

Lord, may the pain be ours, And the weakness that it brings, But at least give us the strength, Of not showing it to anyone!

Far over misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away, ere break of day,To find our long-forgotten gold.

For now, poetry has the capacity - in its own ways and by its own means - to remind us of something we are forbidden to see.

ONE WORDOne word— one stonein a cold river.One more stone—I'll need many stonesif I'm going to get over.

All those other girls are cake...I'm Crème brûlée...Tiramisu, if you will. Just a few notches above.

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not.