There are people who live inside their heads and their intellects. It's something one is born with and stuck with. It's not something you make a decision about.

Poems are other people's snapshots in which we see our own lives.

I left parts of myself everywhere, The way absent-minded people leave Gloves and umbrellas Whose colors are sad from dispensing so much bad luck

There are people who live inside their heads and their intellects. It's something one is born with and stuck with. It's not something you make a decision about.

I was already dozing off in the shade, dreaming that the rustling trees were my many selves explaining themselves all at the same time so that I could not make out a single word. My life was a beautiful mystery on the verge of understanding, always on the verge! Think of it!

Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.

When you play chess alone it's always your move.