I slept little, read a lot, and fell in love frequently.

The poem I want to write is impossible. A stone that floats.

Here is something we can all count on. Sooner or later our tribe always comes to ask us to agree to murder.

If the sky falls they shall have clouds for supper.

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

I'm not a stickler for truth. To me, lying in poetry is much more fun. I'm against lying in life, in principle, in any other activity except poetry.

The world is beautiful but not sayable. That's why we need art.