What makes life life and not a simple story? Jagged bits moving never still, all along the wall.

Men know almost nothing about desire, they think it has to do with sexual activity or can be discharged that way. But sex is a substitute, like money or language. Sometimes I just want to stop seeing.

There is something about the way that Greek poets, say Aeschylus, use metaphor that really attracts me. I don't think I can imitate it, but there's a density to it that I think I'm always trying to push towards in English.

I never had much education in English poetry as such.

One of the principle qualities of pain is that it demands an explanation.

Time isn't made of anything. It is an abstraction. Just a meaning that we impose upon motion.

Meanwhile music pounded / across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being / a self in a song.