I burn the way money burns.

A woman who writes feels too much.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.

Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.

Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.

Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.