A Jury Consists Of Twelve Persons Chosen

What You Want, What You're Hanging Around In The World Waiting For, Is For Something To Occur To You.

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting.

Poetry Is About The Grief. Politics Is About The Grievance.

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.

He Is All Pine And I Am Apple Orchard. My Apple Trees Will Never Get Across And Eat The Cones Under His Pines, I Tell Him. He Only Says, "good Fences Make Good Neighbors.