Poetry for me is as much a spiritual practice as sexual ecstasy is.

My spiritual practice reminds me of what's really real, what's really hood.

Poetry is a naked woman, a naked man, and the distance between them.

I offer you my mouth—
Let me marry my lips to the tops of your thighs,
I kneel between your legs.
I offer you my hands—
Your name written all over my palms,
the fingers I press against you.
I offer you my hips—
My apologetic body.

Most poets in their youth begin in adolescent sadness. I find it more rewarding to end in gladness.

Rarest of the real poets are born poets. They are the oddballs, not the professors.