Nothing, Nothing Justifies Terrorism.

The Poem Is In My Hands, And Can Run Stories Through Her Hands.

Against Barbarity, Poetry Can Resist Only By Confirming Its Attachment To Human Fragility Like A Blade Of Grass Growing On A Wall While Armies March By.

I See Poetry As Spiritual Medicine.

I Have Learned And Dismantled All The Words In Order To Draw From Them A Single Word: Home.

History Laughs At Both The Victim And The Aggressor.