Images Are The Heart Of Poetry ...

You Lay, A Small Knuckle On My White Bed; Lay, That Fist Like A Snail, Small And Strong At My Breast. Your Lips Are Animals; You Are Fed With Love. At First, Hunger Is Not Wrong.

Images Are The Heart Of Poetry ... You're Not A Poet Without Imagery.

... A Starving Man Doesn't Ask What The Meal Is.

My Eyes, Those Sluts, Those Whores, Would Play No More.

Poetry Is My Life, My Postmark, My Hands, My Kitchen, My Face.