Words make love on the page like flies in the summer heat and the poet is only the bemused spectator.

Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.

If the sky falls they shall have clouds for supper.

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

Roberto Calasso's survey of the renewed interest in myth demonstrates how decisive the gods' influence was on modern literature. Calasso is not only immensely learned; he is one of the most original thinkers and writers we have today.

He who cannot howl will not find his pack.

The plain truth is we are going to die. Here I am, a teeny spec surrounded by boundless space and time, arguing with the whole of creation, shaking my fist, sputtering, growing even eloquent at times, and then-poof! I am gone. Swept off once and for all. I think that is very, very funny.