O.K. I'm running out of appetite. Let this swirl- a bit like Crab Nebula- do for now.

I was playing catch with the European audience.

There are no hierarchies, no infinite, no such many as mass, there are only/ eyes in all heads,/ to be looked out of.

You can read everybody. It's not even interesting to tell the truth because to some extent it's false.

I defer to all these other American poets who, for some reason, I both envy and admire.

This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.

Whatever you have to say, leave The roots on, let them Dangle And the dirt Just to make clear Where they come from.