Words make love on the page like flies in the summer heat and the poet is only the bemused spectator.
The poem I want to write is impossible. A stone that floats.
To submit to chance is to reveal the self and its obsessions.
The highest levels of consciousness are wordless.
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.
Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.