It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.

I have woken up…quite sloshedfrom night-mingled rainsa little drugged, by mountain fogsI have been kidnappedfor years....By a mere kiss.

I want you to crave the crisp ocean breezeas much as I do.I want your soul to beas rain-swept as mine.

There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.

In a worldfull oftemporary thingsyou area perpetual feeling.

The splendid thingabout falling apartsilently...Is thatyou can start overas many timesas you like.