The Fog Comes On Little Cat Feet.

Poetry Is Any Page From A Sketchbook Of Outlines Of A Doorknob With Thumb-prints Of Dust, Blood, Dreams.

A Man May Be Born, But In Order To Be Born He Must First Die, And In Order To Die He Must First Awake.

I Wrote Poems In My Corner Of The Brooks Street Station. I Sent Them To Two Editors Who Rejected Them Right Off. I Read Those Letters Of Rejection Years Later And I Agreed With Those Editors.

Lay Me On An Anvil, O God. Beat Me And Hammer Me Into A Steel Spike.

Such A Big Miracle In Such A Tiny Baby. Big Things Often Have Small Beginnings A Baby Is God's Opinion That Life Should Go On.