I died in 1960 from a prison sentence and poetry brought me back to life.

We dreamed of doing but could not bring ourselves to do.

Each Fall the graves of my grandfathers call me, the brown hills and red gullies of mississippi send out their electric messages, galvanizing my genes.

Love is a rock against the wind. Not soft like silk and lace.

To write a blues song is to regiment riots and pluck gems from graves.

I boil my tears in a twisted spoon And dance like an angel on the point of a needle.

Black Poets should live--not leap From steel bridges, like the white boys do.

Let all Black Poets die as trumpets, And be buried in the dust of marching feet.

People are laughing at me today for having holes in my pockets, and ink blood on my fingers- a thirty-something old writer, who strangles words from dictionaries, and feeds on the decay of poetry.

No labourer in the world is expected to work for room board and love -except the housewife.

I've told you guys before, goalies don't think.

What do I have to do to earn and deserve the key relationships that are going to get me where I want to go?

It's hard to believe that you're really here, so I just pretend that you're not here.

Grey is a colour that always seems on the eve of changing to some other colour.

No matter how honestly you open up to someone, there are still things you cannot reveal.

If there were a prerequisite for the future successful digital creative, it would be the passion for discovery.

I'm very quiet and shy in my personal life, as hard as that is to believe.

I try to manage my day by my circadian rhythms because the creativity is such an elusive thing, and I could easily just stomp over it doing my administrative stuff.