Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.

The future is always beginning now.

I am not concerned with truth, nor with conventional notions of what is beautiful.

To open the dictionary of the Beyond and discover what one suspected, that the only word in it is nothing.

Poetry is, first and last, language - the rest is filler.

We all have reasons for moving. I move to keep things whole.

Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light.