Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit i — Mary Karr, Lit
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Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. But it could blow everybody's head off.

— Mary Karr, Lit
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poem poetry

More “Poem” Quotes

A little bunny or some kind of ferret was probablythere too, and bore witness as only rodents can. — John Ashbery
The WeaverMy life is but a weavingbetween my Lord and me;I cannot choose the colorsHe worketh steadily.Oft times He weav — Benjamin Malachi Franklin
The music of revelation announces itself to the reader in somber brooding tones or in melodies light as air and one is i — Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry
A poet is a verb that blossoms light in gardens of dawn, or sometimes midnight. — Aberjhani
...red sings like summer in the shadows, hot on my tongue... — Nell Grey
When he was in college, a famous poet made a useful distinction for him. He had drunk enough in the poet's company to be — John Crowley, Novelty: Four Stories
ink marks the page/where you execute your will like a doe announcing an/ox-stern mate with a single, bleary blink. — Melissa Lee-Houghton, A Body Made of You
Behold yon rough and flinty roadWhere youth, now youth no more,Gropes whining, seeking crumbs of loavesHe cast away of y — Emma Ghent Curtis
The future belongs to all who, refusing to look back at the past move ahead with the clock as it ticks. — Odo Simon Agbo, The Dancing Sun
As Henry Moore carvedor modelled his sculpture every day,he strove to surpass Donatello4. and failed, but woke the next — Donald Hall
In an age when nations and individuals routinely exchange murder for murder, when the healing grace of authentic spiritu — Aberjhani, The American Poet Who Went Home Again
I lose faith in mathematics, logical and rigid. What with those that even zero doesn’t accept? — Dejan Stojanovic, The Shape