If I am ever to find these trees meaningful I must have you by the hand. As it is, they stretch dusty fingers into an obscure sky, and the snow looks up like a face dirtied with tears. Should I cry out and see what happens? There could only be a stranger wandering in this landscape, cold, unfortunate, himself frozen fast in wintry eyes.

A man was the cause of it all. An unarmed man with a weapon.

life perpetuated in parti-colored loves and beautiful lies all in different languages.

But it is good to be several floors up in the dead of night wondering whether you are any good or not and the only decision you can make is that you did it.

Too many poets act like a middle-aged mother trying to get her kids to eat too much cooked meat, and potatoes with drippings (tears). I don't give a damn whether they eat or not. Forced feeding leads to excessive thinness (effete). Nobody should experience anything they don't need to, if they don't need poetry bully for them. I like the movies too. And after all, only Whitman and Crane and Williams, of the American poets, are better than the movies.

I am ashamed of my century for being so entertaining but I have to smile.

I wish I weren’t reeling at all.