Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the product's something that, though it may not be for everybody, is about everybody.

Outside the open window The morning air is all awash with angels.

What is the opposite of two? A lonely me, a lonely you.

I would feel dead if I didn't have the ability periodically to put my world in order with a poem. I think to be inarticulate is a great suffering, and is especially so to anyone who has a certain knack for poetry.

Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind. Something will come to you.

Composition for me is, externally at least, scarcely distinguishable from catatonia.

Odd that a thing is most itself when likened