I blink January’s lashesand gush down December’s cheeks

some winterswill never meltsome summerswill never freezeand some things will only... live in poems.

...so i will greet youin a wayall loved thingsare meant to be greetedwith a tear in my heartand a poem in my eye.

there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too, have been bruised...by beauty.

because some thingssometimesaren't ours to hold, but just beautiful to listen to.

i'm glad to be alive in a world wherehis gently awakening eyesnourish the morning sun.

and the afterglow...of your gaze...is the onlysweater that I need.

there is some achingthat will only heal...in the mosque of sleep.

i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated....foreverin my mother’s arms.

leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.

A man who does not honor the company of his true friends will never see the light of true love.

This world has need of song and sword.

We don't move with our legs and arms, but with courage and will power.

REMIND ME AGAIN, he said, HOW THE LITTLE HORSE-SHAPED ONES MOVE.

It always seems to me better to slough off the answer to a question that I consider to be a terrible invasion of privacy - the kind of privacy that a writer must keep for himself.

My finger picking is sort of a cross between Pete Seeger, Earl Scruggs, and total incompetence.

If Jesus were here today, he wouldn't be riding around on a donkey. He'd be taking a plane, he'd be using the media.

If you ever have to make a choice between learning and inspiration, choose learning. It works most of the time.

I'm usually alone or asleep, at home.

All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy.