I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.

Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.

Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.

The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.

Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.

The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives