Poetry wants to make things mean more than they mean, says someone, as if we knew how much things meant, and in what unit of measure.

The ghosts swarm. They speak as one person. Each has left something undone.

Metaphor is ritual sacrifice. It kills the look-alike. No, metaphor is homeopathy.

But here I hold your dream in my poem.

Curled up in bed, I’m young in the old way.

We are all full of discourses that we only half understand and half mean.

The crowd is made of little gods, and there is still no heaven.

The fear that all this will end. The fear that it won't.

We sleep together in the dark but confuse light with love.

clarity need not be equivalent to / readability. How readable is the world?

Carried by light, images remain while sensation is so evanescent as to be always beyond belief.

This is an Aston Martin, Gin.You don't run over dead bodies in an Aston Matin.""Tell that to James Bond

Then he leaned over, right there in the restaurant parking lot, and kissed me. And it wasn’t a friendship kiss, either. It was tender and real, and utterly romantic.

I used to worry about my Fears, but I realized that most of the time nothing bad happened. So, I have stopped worrying.-RVM

Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.

I am still feeling my calf strain, so I have been unable to train this week. I will again have to sit out the weekend action, but the lads are climbing ever higher to safety.

The idea that women don't smell fine on our own is a problem.

Two sentiments alone suffice for man, were he to live the age of the rocks - love, and the contemplation of the Deity.

At my door the Pale Horse stands to carry me to unknown lands.

Blogging, I love you no matter how out of fashion you are.

It all begins when the soul would have its way with you.