The street to my left was backed up with traffic and I watched the people waiting patiently in the cars. There was almost always a man and a women, staring straight ahead, not talking. It was, finally, for everyone, a matter of waiting. You waited and you waited- for the hospital, the doctor, the plumber, the madhouse, the jail, papa death himself. First the signal red, then the signal was green. The citizens of the world ate food and watched t.v. and worried about their jobs or lack of the same, while they waited.

To create art means to be crazy alone forever.

I can't think of any poet-recluses outside of one dead Jeffers. [Robinson Jeffers] The rest of them want to slobber over each other and hug each other. It appears to me that I am the last of the poet-recluses.

Maybe when I get in the grave, things will be beautiful.

Keep your money in your pocket. Or bet it on a good horse.

If I stop writing I am dead. And that's the only way I'll stop: dead.

I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.