I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places.

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

Will occur as time grows more open about it.

To the poet as a basement quilt, but perhaps To some reader a latticework of regrets.

Much that is beautiful must be discarded So that we may resemble a taller Impression of ourselves.

I don't find any direct statements in life. My poetry imitates or reproduces the way knowledge or awareness come to me, which is by fits and starts and by indirection. I don't think poetry arranged in neat patterns would reflect that situation. My poetry is disjunct, but then so is life.

... the first step of the terrible journey toward feeling somebody should act, that ends in utter confusion and hopelessness, east of the sun and west of the moon.