I got to thinking that poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn't get--and never would get.

You are thirst and thirst is all I know

If you want to be a writer, you don't want to live in a comfortable place.

I wondered about the science of storms and how sometimes it seemed that a storm wanted to break the world and how the world refused to break.

If you can quit for a day, you can quit for a lifetime.

Mostly, I think people are fake. Well, what do you expect? The fake world we live in conspires to make us all fakes.

Why do we smile? Why do we laugh? Why do we feel alone? Why are we sad and confused? Why do we read poetry? Why do we cry when we see a painting? Why is there a riot in the heart when we love? Why do we feel shame? What is that thing in the pit of your stomach called desire?