…you have changed everything for me- you rearranged the furniture and now you’ve changed the view from my window!…

…my heart rides the wind and my thoughts sail away – to a land below the horizon where I know you hide from me…

…when you’re hard and unyielding your words score me with lines – I hate lines – I want curves – curves are happy like a snowman …

…you fantasize about me reading my poems to you – it doesn’t work that way – I write down everything later – living is not an after-thought…

…I will find once again the light of your beauty – your colored windows in the night…

… this longing inside me that never goes away, must be a poem…must be you …

you know the way of the wind in the night—the desolate alleys my soul takes

…you can’t be intimate unless you’re sensitive…

…I live with regrets – the bittersweet loss of innocence – the red track of the moon upon the lake – the inability to return and do it again…

…the secret to writing is to get your own pain – shout it out till it hurts your throat – weep it into your pillow – then write it down …

my soul has shadows – nooks and crannies where griefs, like cobwebs, collect

…so now you know my eyes are green – because of my shirt? You never looked into my soul to know how much in me is green…

…you are my Lady of Shalott lost in a dream of isolation – I care too much for you – I romanticize depression…

I will not exorcise you—I’d miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair

…you want things to remain the same, which they never can, and so you’re wounded by your own feelings & resentful others don’t seem to care…

I write small poems— the kind that fit on a postcard… and still can break your heart

I see you from afar—fragile and shy as a star gleaming through a cloudy rift

…freedom of conscience does not mean being uncontrolled – we have to control ourselves and at times submit to others…

…the bones of cirrus clouds stand out like ribs against the sky – an angel is stretching…

…I love Shakespeare, but sometimes….his images – If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head….

I knew I loved you when I kept trying to run away and find reasons why it wouldn’t work

…you merely look at me and I want to confess, but don’t – I’ve buried my heart under the floor boards, but you always dig it up…

…it’s easy to express romantic love – harder to manage daily love – to forgive failings close to feelings – to divide self from soul…

…God sometimes sends flowers -but I like it best when he darkens the sky and lights up an infinitude of worlds…

There must always be a secret to be unwrapped at Christmas—that’s the rule

…spiritual or emotional pain doesn’t become a memory so much as a bruise …

…I look out at the world through your transparent face…

….my sacred landscape is the foothills of the stars – I go there often to sleep …

…some say Twitter seems trite and lacks weightiness – but in actuality, it lends itself to poetry – it can be very compressed and intense…

…why do people venerate Einstein or Bill Gates? Clive Bell explains: Genius worship is the inevitable sign of an uncreative age….

You are my winter suddenness—a glass of red wine spilt across a white tablecloth

…they say a reformed roue makes the best husband, but, Oh! Didn’t they tell you? Monsters can’t be reformed…

…God and your heart both whisper – incline your ear – don’t just learn from your head…

…I need you to be a listener – you need me to hang word on. We’re friends because neither has discovered a limit where the other ends…

…the wounds of the past and the scars of the present don’t disfigure me in your eyes – because you know the price I pay for loving you …

…when your heart is broken, don’t go silent – speak to God in his own language…

…I want to live doubly – first with you and then afterwards in memory …

you are a ring tone on the phone I didn’t answer

…you think so logically…like a hawk soaring – I feel so chaotically…like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth…

…I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists…

… my early writing was a silent fury – at what or whom, I had no idea – but I shut it in until it burned my bones and now, I’ve let it out…

after life has broken you open, perhaps you may create art

…there’s the suffering from love and the suffering from grief – either pain permanently scars the soul…

…everyone wants to be excited by something magical and wondrous – to be reminded of how they once saw the world …

I am a bed of sparks you breathe upon and kindle

…people quote proverbs without realizing they’re really in awe of the authority of their truth and the power of their expression…

…here’s what I’ve learned – people will hurt you, but you don’t have to respond – not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed …

Last night, lost in spaces between star—bays and lakes of clouds, I tossed and turned looking for you

…when we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we’ll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls…

…I lost my illusions in a black rain of bitterness – now what do you see in my eyes? How can you still love me? How can I be tender? …