The poet’s life is just so much crenellated waste, nights and days whipping swiftly or laboriously past the cinematic window. We’re hunched and weaving over the keys of our green our grey or pink blue manual typewriter maybe a darker stone cold thoritative selectric with its orgasmic expectant hum and us popping pills and laughing over what you or I just wrote, wondering if that line means insult or sex. Or both. Usually both.

Time passes. That's for sure.

Art feels like it has this frame, and it's either outside or inside.

Women aren't physically afraid of men; women are genetically afraid of men. It's happened for such a long time.

Part of the glamour of being a poet was always this long reach into the future. You knew you were managing time.

I am always hungry and wanting to have sex. This is a fact.

I think poets are supposed to be writing for television and film. I grew up in the day of early TV that was so raw and funny, and I think we're in the next important moment of television, where it's really telling the epic of the culture like Charles Dickens was doing in the 19th century with his serialized novels.