“I almost went to bedwithout rememberingthe four white violetsI put in the button-holeof your green sweaterand how i kissed you thenand you kissed meshy as though I’dnever been your lover”

“A Kite is a VictimA kite is a victim you are sure of.You love it because it pullsgentle enough to call you master,strong enough to call you fool;because it liveslike a desperate trained falconin the high sweet air,and you can always haul it downto tame it in your drawer.A kite is a fish you have already caughtin a pool where no fish come,so you play him carefully and long,and hope he won't give up,or the wind die down.A kite is the last poem you've writtenso you give it to the wind,but you don't let it gountil someone finds yousomething else to do.A kite is a contract of glorythat must be made with the sun,so you make friends with the fieldthe river and the wind,then you pray the whole cold night before,under the travelling cordless moon,to make you worthy and lyric and pure.GiftYou tell me that silenceis nearer to peace than poemsbut if for my giftI brought you silence(for I know silence)you would sayThis is not silencethis is another poemand you would hand it back to meThere are some menThere are some menwho should have mountainsto bear their names through timeGrave markers are not high enoughor greenand sons go far away to lose the fisttheir father’s hand will always seemI had a friend he lived and diedin mighty silence and with dignityleft no book son or lover to mourn.Nor is this a mourning songbut only a naming of this mountainon which I walkfragrant, dark and softly whiteunder the pale of mistI name this mountain after him.-Believe nothing of meExcept that I felt your beautymore closely than my own.I did not see any cities burn,I heard no promises of endless night,I felt your beautymore closely than my own.Promise me that I will return.--When you call me closeto tell meyour body is not beautifulI want to summonthe eyes and hidden mouthsof stone and light and waterto testify against you.-SongI almost went to bedwithout rememberingthe four white violetsI put in the button-holeof your green sweaterand how i kissed you thenand you kissed meshy as though I'dnever been your lover -Reach into the vineyard of arteries for my heart.Eat the fruit of ignorance and share with me the mist andfragrance of dying.-”

“You live your life as if it's real.......a thousand kisses deep”

“this is not a Quote it's a poem. "A Thousand Kisses Deep"The ponies run, the girls are young,The odds are there to beat.You win a while, and then it’s done –Your little winning streak.And summoned now to dealWith your invincible defeat,You live your life as if it’s real,A Thousand Kisses Deep.I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,I’m back on Boogie Street.You lose your grip, and then you slipInto the Masterpiece.And maybe I had miles to drive,And promises to keep:You ditch it all to stay alive,A Thousand Kisses Deep.And sometimes when the night is slow,The wretched and the meek,We gather up our hearts and go,A Thousand Kisses Deep.Confined to sex, we pressed againstThe limits of the sea:I saw there were no oceans leftFor scavengers like me.I made it to the forward deck.I blessed our remnant fleet –And then consented to be wrecked,A Thousand Kisses Deep.I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,I’m back on Boogie Street.I guess they won’t exchange the giftsThat you were meant to keep.And quiet is the thought of you,The file on you complete,Except what we forgot to do,A Thousand Kisses Deep.And sometimes when the night is slow,The wretched and the meek,We gather up our hearts and go,A Thousand Kisses Deep.The ponies run, the girls are young,The odds are there to beat . . .”

“You have the lovers,they are nameless, their histories only for each other,and you have the room, the bed, and the windows.Pretend it is a ritual.Unfurl the bed, bury the lovers, blacken the windows,let them live in that house for a generation or two.No one dares disturb them.Visitors in the corridor tip-toe past the long closed door,they listen for sounds, for a moan, for a song:nothing is heard, not even breathing.You know they are not dead,you can feel the presence of their intense love.Your children grow up, they leave you,they have become soldiers and riders.Your mate dies after a life of service.Who knows you? Who remembers you?But in your house a ritual is in progress:It is not finished: it needs more people.One day the door is opened to the lover's chamber.The room has become a dense garden,full of colours, smells, sounds you have never known.The bed is smooth as a wafer of sunlight,in the midst of the garden it stands alone.In the bed the lovers, slowly and deliberately and silently,perform the act of love.Their eyes are closed,as tightly as if heavy coins of flesh lay on them.Their lips are bruised with new and old bruises.Her hair and his beard are hopelessly tangled.When he puts his mouth against her shouldershe is uncertain whether her shoulderhas given or received the kiss.All her flesh is like a mouth.He carries his fingers along her waistand feels his own waist caressed.She holds him closer and his own arms tighten around her.She kisses the hand besider her mouth.It is his hand or her hand, it hardly matters,there are so many more kisses.You stand beside the bed, weeping with happiness,you carefully peel away the sheetsfrom the slow-moving bodies.Your eyes filled with tears, you barely make out the lovers,As you undress you sing out, and your voice is magnificentbecause now you believe it is the first human voiceheard in that room.The garments you let fall grow into vines.You climb into bed and recover the flesh.You close your eyes and allow them to be sewn shut.You create an embrace and fall into it.There is only one moment of pain or doubtas you wonder how many multitudes are lying beside your body,but a mouth kisses and a hand soothes the moment away.”

“If you want a lover I'll do anything you ask.If you want a different kind of love I'll wear a mask.If you want to strike me down in anger here I stand.If you want a partner in life take my hand.I'm your man.”

“If your life is a leaf that the seasons tear off and condemn they will bind you with love that is graceful and green as a stem.”