Sufilere sohbet gerek Ahilere ahret gerek Mecnunlara Leyla gerek Bana seni gerek seni

moonlight disappears down the hillsmountains vanish into fogand i vanish into poetry.

Streets paved with opal sadness,Lead me counterclockwise, to pockets of joy,And jazz.

[...]the stately and slow-moving Turk,With freight of slippers piled beneath his arm.

in a slapfight with Jesusmy face bleedsbecause no one cut their fingernails back then

to split the very sea into ours and theirs." Border at the BeachAnd More White Sheets

I am the red wheelbarrow of communism. William Carlos Williams wrote a poem about me.

My head is full of fireand grief and my tongueruns wild, piercedwith shards of glass.

Love does not claim materialistic possession of any kind, it yields complete freedom.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

Remembrance and reflection how allied!What thin partitions Sense from Thought divide!

sometimes i wake upin the middleof the nightand findpoetry splatteredall over my bed.

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears.

Art is not the handmaid of politics. It is its own remedy! And its healing is sacral.