The secret wish of poetry is to stop time.
A poem is an invitation to a voyage. As in life, we travel to see fresh sights.
He who cannot howl will not find his pack.
To submit to chance is to reveal the self and its obsessions.
Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.
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!