Duende I Can't Remember Her Name. It's

The Abandoned Valley Can You Understand Being Alone So Long You Would Go Out In The Middle Of The Night And Put A Bucket Into The Well So You Could Feel Something Down There Tug At The Other End Of The Rope?

Fame Is A Lot Of Fun, But It's Not Interesting. I Loved Being Noticed And Praised, Even The Banquets. But They Didn't Have Anything That I Wanted. After About Six Months, I Found It Boring.

We Exist With A Wind Whispering Inside And Our Moon Flexing. Amid The Ducts, Inside The Basilica Of Bones.

We Must Risk Delight. We Can Do Without Pleasure, But Not Delight. Not Enjoyment. We Must Have The Stubbornness To Accept Our Gladness In The Ruthless Furnace Of This World. To Make Injustice The Only Measure Of Our Attention Is To Praise The Devil.

I Like Ornament At The Right Time, But I Don't Want A Poem To Be Made Out Of Decoration ... When I Read The Poems That Matter To Me, It Stuns Me How Much The Presence Of The Heart-in All Its Forms-is Endlessly Available There. To Experience Ourselves In An Important Way Just Knocks Me Out. It Puzzles Me Why People Have Given That Up For Cleverness. Some Of Them Are Ingenious, More Ingenious Than I Am, But So Many Of Them Aren't Any Good At Being Alive.