None Of Us Understand What We're Doing,

Poetry Is Not An Expression Of The Party Line. It's That Time Of Night, Lying In Bed, Thinking What You Really Think, Making The Private World Public, That's What The Poet Does.

Who Can Live With This Consciousness And Not Wake Frightened At Sunrise?

All These Books Are Published In Heaven.

I Didn't Know The Names Of The Flowers - Now My Garden Is Gone.

I Heard You Asking Questions Of Each: Who Killed The Pork Chops? What Price Bananas? Are You My Angel?