The ghosts of Rilke and Wordsworth--along with the 300+ MFA programs, which now seem to employ all Living Poets--have misled the American public egregiously into thinking that poets are morally pure and/or useless.

The sum of the parts equals less than the whole. Or the howl. Or the how. Or the hole.

I do not play the instrument In longing but in quest Not to be undertaken Not to be lost In a forest of bliss.

I think it is extremely interesting to think that, in some cases, vice might be, finally, more redemptive than virtue.

There is, in the heart, the hard-rendering profit. As if we were plucking the leaves from the trees.

It is bizarre that some people can't understand how a serious poet could work at a finance firm. Goethe was a bureaucrat. Eliot worked as a banker.

It should be everyone's right in a capitalist system to have some way to take advantage of compound interest.