“This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.I don't plan it.When I'm outside the saying of it,I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.”

“This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.”

“All day I think about it, then at night I say it.Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?I have no idea.My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,And I intend to end up there.This drunkenness began in some other tavern.When I get back around to that place,I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.The day is coming when I fly off,But who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?Who says words with my mouth?Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?I cannot stop asking.If I could taste one sip of an answer,I could break out of this prison for drunks.I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.I don't plan it.When I'm outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.That's fine with us. Every morningWe glow and in the evening we glow again.”

“A Thirsty FishI don't get tired of you. Don't grow wearyof being compassionate toward me!All this thirst equipmentmust surely be tired of me,the waterjar, the water carrier.I have a thirsty fish in methat can never find enoughof what it's thirsty for!Show me the way to the ocean!Break these half-measures,these small containers.All this fantasyand grief.Let my house be drowned in the wavethat rose last night in the courtyardhidden in the center of my chest.Joseph fell like the moon into my well.The harvest I expected was washed away.But no matter.A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.I don't want learning, or dignity,or respectability.I want this music and this dawnand the warmth of your cheek against mine.The grief-armies assemble,but I'm not going with them.This is how it always iswhen I finish a poem.A great silence comes over me,and I wonder why I ever thoughtto use language.”

“For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.From within, I couldn't decide what to do.Unable to see, I heard my name being called.Then I walked outside.”

“I am smiling at myself todayThere's no wish left in this heartOr perhaps there is no heart left Free from all desireI sit quietly like EarthMy silent cry echoes like thunder Throughout the universe I am not worried about itI know it will be heard by no oneExcept me.”

“I'm in love!Your advice, what are they?Love has poisoned me!Your remedies, what are they?I hear them shout: "fast, Bind him feet!"But if my heart that has gone mad!Those strings on my feetWhat is the point?”