There is a sharp distinction between what is remembered, what is told and what is true.

There's something immediate about the experience of reading a poem - whether it's the music or some other element of it - that just seems to access another part of the brain. You know, Charles Olson talks about this transfer of energy that happens between the writer and the reader of the poem. I guess there's something essential to me about acknowledging upfront the immensity of it - the difficulty of it - and even allowing that to be the subject.

All pain is the same. Only the details are different.

I knew that at least a few of the stars I saw were probably gone already, collapsed into nothing. I felt like I was looking at a lie. But I didn't mind. The world makes liars of us all.

Freedom is not the same as lack of accountability.

The world makes liars of us all.

I guess I find the boundaries between poetry and prose to be somewhat permeable.