Every artist has his or her struggle to work out in their work. The more powerful the struggle, the more persuasive the art.

I wrote poetry in a secretive way, I think, a secret from myself, I mean. I wrote it because it gave me great pleasure to do so and because it relieved the ever-building pressure of the demanding world around me. It's always served me as a way of appraising, and controlling overwhelming experiences. But this need, and desire, was always in conflict with my need to "survive."

There are real facts in my poems, but facts mixed up in the perverse stubborn stew of imagination, add a pinch or two of revenge and retribution, a dash of amplification and reparation.

Art is a crime scene in a sense, a crucible, of the mind and heart and our dreams.

To pay for my father's funeral I borrowed money from people he already owed money to. One called him a nobody. No, I said, he was a failure. You can't remember a nobody's name, that's why they're called nobodies. Failures are unforgettable.

I'm the kind of father I wanted my father to be. That may be the sweetest revenge.

Happiness is a powerful thing. It freed me to do what I always wanted to do.