When I Quit All These Things And

Poets Are Like Steam Valves, Where The Ordinary Feelings Of Ordinary People Can Escape And Be Shown.

I Did Not Know Him, I Knew My Idea Of Him.

Writing Or Making Anything-a Poem, A Bird Feeder, A Chocolate Cake-has Self-respect In It. You're Working. You're Trying. You're Not Lying Down On The Ground, Having Given Up.

She'd Crack A Joke Sharp As A Tin Lid Hot From The Teeth Of The Can-opener, And Cackle Her Crack-corn Laugh.

When Anyone Escapes, My Heart / Leaps Up. Even When It's I Who Am Escaped From, / I Am Half On The Side Of The Leaver.