I would not come in.I meant not even if asked,And I hadn’t been.

Live not for Battles Won.Live not for The-End-of-the-Song. Live in the along.

If I Must GoIf I must go to heaven’s endClimbing the ages like a stair,Be near me and forever bendWith the same eyes above me there;Time will fly past us like leaves flying,We shall not...

comingdownwithsomethinggoingawaywithnothing

our love likestepping on to a planesitting down in a carwalking on unknown land will either take us to where we belongor throw us into darkness

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

This is life…by all means necessary

I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.

No thought is a stupid thought, those who are thoughtless are thought of as stupid.

A poet’s work . . . to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep.

I will not feel, I will notfeel, untilI have to

Contemporary poets got so obscure that poetry kind of fell out of favor,

Care: not carnage Love: not loathingPeace: not pieces

Nature, it seems, is the popular namefor milliards and milliards and milliardsof particles playing their infinite gameof billiards and billiards and billiards.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled...

How long your closet held a whiff of you,Long after hangers hung austere and bare.I would walk in and suddenly the trueSharp sweet sweat scent controlled the airAnd life was in that small still living...

A lot we have in our head,But things of heart are not yet dead,They have done none, but just fled,Out of us, Forgotten, just been bled..

Blessed is the covenant of love, the covenant of mercy, useless light behind the terror, deathless song in the house of night.

Mineral cactai,quicksilver lizards in the adobe walls,the bird that punctures space,thirst, tedium, clouds of dust, impalpable epiphanies of wind.The pines taught me to talk to myself.In that garden I learnedto send myself off.Later there were...

Poetry and art nourish the soul of the world with the flavor-filled substances of beauty, wisdom and truth.

Mathematicians still don’t understandthe ball our hands made, or howyour electrocuted grandparents made it possiblefor you to light my cigarettes with your eyes.It isn’t as simple as me climbing into the windowto leave six ounces...

Siempre hay un rey sobre un caballoen las viejas ciudades;lo custodian las fuentes y los niñosy un insólito pájaro.Cuando los veo, pienso que la muertemira de las estatuasarmada hasta los dientes, con sus ojosde bronce...

I’m looking for youinto that silverspoon where I taste my reflection to feel the touch of your untouchables- from the poem “Looking For You

The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put first.

. . .because we had survivedsisters and brothers, daughters and sons,we discovered bones that rosefrom the dark earth and sangas white birds in the treesBecause the story of our lifebecomes our lifeBecause each of us...

People are laughing at me today for having holes in my pockets, and ink blood on my fingers- a thirty-something old writer, who strangles words from dictionaries, and feeds on the decay of poetry.

Eggshells become hard to break after walking on them for so long.

For the Wife Beater’s WifeWith blue irises her face is blossomed. BlueCircling to yellow, circling to brown on her cheeks.The long bone of her jaw untrackedShe hides in our kitchen.He sleeps it off next door.Her...

My NameOnce when the lawn was a golden green and the marbled moonlit trees rose like fresh memorials in the scented air, and the whole countryside pulsed with the chirr and murmur of insects, I...

from “Semele Recycled”But then your great voice rang out under the skiesmy name!– and all those private namesfor the parts and places that had loved you best.And they stirred in their nest of hay and...

Depths of Friendship…under fathoms deepof dark and bitter coldan eerie oscillationreverberated brash and bold…

Mega biblion, mega kakon (Big book, big evil)

Optimism / stung like grit in my swimsuit all the long ride home . . .

Farewell to thee! but not farewellTo all my fondest thoughts of thee:Within my heart they still shall dwell;And they shall cheer and comfort me.

Percy wakes me (fourteen)Percy wakes me and I am not ready.He has slept all night under the covers.Now he’s eager for action: a walk, then breakfast.So I hasten up. He is sitting on the kitchen...

Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love’s day.

And then I feel the sun itselfas it blazes over the hills,like a million flowers on fire –clearly I’m not needed,yet I feel myself turninginto something of inexplicable value.-from The Buddha’s Last Instruction

When I Was One-And-TwentyWhen I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say,`Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away;Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free.’But I was one-and-twenty...

The sun loved me again when it saw that the stars would not abandon me.

All that really matters isto feel alive, if only for a single moment –to feel in Intense Sensationthat our existence is not an endless repetitionof sleeping, eating, drinking, and dressing.

I love with love, so that we all may love.” ~ Amunhotep El Bey

This is freedom. This is the face of faith, nobody getswhat they want. Never again are you the same. The longingis to be pure. What you get is to be changed. More and more byeach...

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping…I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

In summer the empire of insects spreads.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Letting goI can have a firm foundationTo honor youAnd hold you in my heart

she wanted because art

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.