Poetry comes to me out of thin air or out of my unconscious mind. It's sort of the way dreams come to us and the way that we get knowledge from them, through television, old movies, which I watch a lot of. Lines of dialogue suddenly seem to be part of a poem.

I lost my ridiculous accent without acquiring another

Poetry is mostly hunches.

I write with experiences in mind, but I don't write about them, I write out of them.

Part of the strength of Pollock and Rothko's art, in fact, is this doubt as to whether art may be there at all.

Just when I thought there wasn't room enough for another thought in my head, I had this great idea—

I'm heading for a clean-named place like Wisconsin, and mad as a jack-o'-lantern, will get there without help and nosy proclivities.