I believe that all poetry is formal in that it exists within limits, limits that are either inherited by tradition or limits that language itself imposes.

Nothing is the destiny of everyone, it is our commonness made dumb.

I feel that anything is possible in a poem.

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

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

Pain is filtered in a poem so that it becomes finally, in the end, pleasure.

I haven’t met God and I haven’t been to heaven, so I’m skeptical.