The Snow Doesn't Give A Soft White

Suppose Life Is An Old Man Carrying Flowers On His Head.

One Pierced Moment Whiter Than The Rest -turning From The Tremendous Lie Of Sleep I Watch The Roses Of The Day Grow Deep.

True Wars Are Never Won.

My Advice To All Young People Who Wish To Become Poets Is: Do Something Easy, Like Learning How To Blow Up The World - Unless You're Not Only Willing, But Glad, To Feel And Work And Fight Till You Die.

The Other Guineahen Died Of A Broken Heart And We Came To New York. I Used To Sit At A Table,drawing Wings With A Pencil That Kept Breaking And I Kept Remembering How Your Mind Looked When It Slept For Several Years,to Wake Up Asking Why. So Then You Turned Into A Photograph Of Somebody Who’s Trying Not To Laugh At Somebody Who’s Trying Not To Cry