You can do anything, really. And that, l think, is one of the exciting possibilities of the present, l swear, is the possibility that the goddamn thing can be modaled throughout.

Forgive me if I sleep until I wake up.

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

The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.

Atlantis will rise again.

All that matters is that the thing be the thing of the thing.

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