“Outside the youth center, between the liquor storeand the police station,a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;overflowing with blossomfoam,like a sudsy mug of beer;like a bride ripping off her clothes,dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.It’s been doing that all week:making beauty,and throwing it away,and making more.”

“A poem is a heroic act of integration that binds into rough harmony the chorus of forces within and outside the soul. A poem struggles to orchestrate, prioritize, cohere, and coordinate these potentially shattering forces.”

“So the avenues we walk down,full of bodies wearing faces,are full of hidden talent:enough to make pianos moan,sidewalks split,streetlights deliriously flicker.”

“The future ours for a while to hold, with its heaviness—and hope moving from one location to anotherlike the holy ghost that it is.”

“Often we ask ourselvesto make absolute senseout of what just happens,and in this way, what we are practicingis suffering,which everybody practices,but strangely few of usgrow graceful in.”

“What I thought was an endturned out to be a middle.What I thought was a brick wallturned out to be a tunnel.What I thought was an injusticeturned out to be a color of the sky.”

“There’s Socialism and Communism and Capitalism and there’s Feminism and Hedonism, and there’s Catholicism and Bipedalism and Consumerism, but I think Narcissism is the system that means the most to me.”