And I should mention the light which falls through the big windows this time of day italicizing everything it touches.

But tonight, the lion of contentment has placed a warm heavy paw on my chest.

Radio is such a perfect medium for the transmission of poetry, primarily because there just is the voice, there's no visual distraction.

The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of, as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain, to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

And I should mention the light which falls through the big windows this time of day italicizing everything it touches.

The literary world is so full of pretension, and there's such an enormous gap between how seriously poets take themselves and how widely they're ignored by everybody else.

While the novelist is banging on his typewriter, the poet is watching a fly in the windowpane.