Artists give us not conclusions but evidence.

I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.

Listen. With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees And fall.

These be Three silent things: The falling snow...the hour Before the dawn...the mouth of one Just dead.

'Does it mean this, does it mean that, that's all anybody wants to know. Fuck them, darling. I say what any decent poet would say if you dared ask him to analy…

Abstract painting is abstract. It confronts you. There was a reviewer a while back who wrote that my pictures didn't have any beginning or any end. He didn't m…

: I don't expect everyone to get something deep out of it. Some people can just listen to the music, or get their aggressions out, but I think with any great p…