It Was Not An Adventure; It Was

The Memory Of My Father Is Wrapped Up In White Paper, Like Sandwiches Taken For A Day Of Work. Just As A Magician Takes Towers And Rabbits Out Of His Hat, He Drew Love From His Small Body.

A Flock Of Sheep Near The Airport Or A High Voltage Generator Beside The Orchard: These Combinations Open Up My Life Like A Wound, But They Also Heal It. That's Why My Feelings Always Come In Twos.

It Was Not An Adventure; It Was My Life.

I Wanted To Be Calm, Like A Mound With All Its Cities Destroyed, And Tranquil, Like A Full Cemetery.

The Reason A Poet Is A Poet Is To Write Poems, Not To Advertise Himself As A Poet.