My cup is yellowOr not, though not’sImpossibleIt’s yellow

Kun olen kuollut, kun olen kuollut.Kesä jatkuu. Kesä.

when we were kidslaying around the lawnon ourbellieswe often talkedabouthowwe’d like todieandwe allagreed on thesamething;we’d alllike to diefucking(althoughnone of ushaddone anyfucking)and nowthatwe are hardlykidsany longerwe think moreabouthownot todieandalthoughwe’rereadymost ofuswouldprefer todo italoneunder thesheetsnowthatmost ofushave fuckedour livesaway.

We wrote our names in the sandYou crossed mine out: I can’t getback to the way I was.

I feel no grief for being called somethingwhichI am not;in fact, it’s enthralling, somehow, like a goodback rub

Des Menschen Kraft, im Dichter offenbartThe human power is revealed by poetIl potere dell’umanità si rivela nel poeta

and love is a word usedtoo much andmuchtoo soon.

I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.

an infinite storm of beauty.”The beginning is swaddled in mists, blasted by random blinding flashes. Lava pours and cools; seas boil and flood. Clouds materialize and shift; now you can see the earth’s face through...

What will they say about my poetrywho never touched my blood?Que diran de mi poesialos que no tocaron mi sangre?

…you look at me like an emergency

and everybody was happy that uncle lee was able to get that scholarship even though you wondered when you could do quadratic equations in your head why you had a basketball scholarship but you always...

If you have a fight work it out, don’t get out

I remember a scared, young girl hiding in the guise of arrogance and rebellion. I remember feeling lost in a world where everyone else seemed to have it all figured out. I remember the tears...

Shit is disgusting and horrible. A lot of people and things are disgusting and horrible, and I want to be a nice person, and I am. When you are speaking about rejected people whose suffering...

People Die…Beauty Fades…Love Changes…And You Will Always Be Alone

I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.

There is also a third kind of madness, which is possession by the Muses, enters into a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring frenzy, awakens lyric….But he, who, not being inspired and having no...

Home” is such an empty word.I’m not sure why it feltwhole coming from your mouth.I’m not sure why I feltwhole. We both know I’m just an ideato carve into sheetrockwith swollen fists;leaving worn out holes...

…a passing face together with his grief turned you into a weeping Madonna…

You not only are hunted by others, you unknowingly hunt yourself.

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

New Rome will be destroyedBy the attacks of new vandals.God always remains silent.

Being a poet one confronts the limitation of language, how can the spirit be revealed under any restrictions.

Creators of history always play with our impotence and our ignorance.

They don’t think it be like it is, but it do.

And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.

Keen winter stabs the breasts of MayWhose crimson roses burst his frost,Ships tempest-tossedWill find a harbour in some bay,And so we may.

In the end, the world returns to a grain.

Thing were falling apart. We just could not slow down. We were evolving into something greater, perhaps too much for our own good. And one thing always remained as I moved on. I saved a...

It is vain futility to analyze the algebra of time.

Every broken piece of me fell on every broken piece of you and when I took the missing parts, like the emptiness of me I saw the emptiness of you and I poured my half...

A word into the silence thrown always finds its echo somewhere where silence opens hidden lexicons.

The truth is I didn’t need therapy; I just needed to feel loved and know that someone out there craved my attention.

But some nights, I must tell you,I go down there after everyone has fallen asleep.I swim back and forth in the echoing blackness.I sing a love song as well as I can,lost for a while...

Even the most political poem is an act of faith.

Don’t pay attention to those who offer too much.

The people need poetry that will be their own secretTo keep them awake forever,And bathe them in the bright-haired wave of its breathing.

Infinity is the end. End without infinity is but a new beginning.

Don’t forget to collect the memories on your journey. Remember, if you only focus on your destination, you will miss out on the benefits of the journey.

Real geniuses would like that what we think of ourselves is true.

TodayToday is the day that good things come your way and then bad things to suck all the fun from your play.Today is the day that you stub every toe; blow your nose on a...

Music helps to forgetThis forsaken tomb,That is my abodeCellars downFar belowUnder the ground, …

In fact, in lyric poetry, truthfulness becomes recognizable as a ring of truth within the medium itself.

listen: there’s a hellof a good universe next door; let’s go

Poetry makes nothing happen.

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

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare?

Love’s language starts, stops, starts; the right words flowing or clotting in the heart.

My heart was full of softening showers,I used to swing like this for hours,I did not care for war or death,I was glad to draw my breath.