I have some weak poems in that new collection, which is why I'm not ready to send the collection out yet.

I was writing poems as I was walking. I was able to take that restlessness, that nomadic distraction, and use that distraction in the world and turn that distraction into observations and then into poems.

I have a muse who's very powerful, but I'm still a hopeless deadbeat of a poet.

I'm in my 60s, and a cancer scare just makes you more aware of mortality.

"Time" does not mean "occasion."

No one, evidently, except me has found "No Alarms" poem ironical that an obsessive theme in my writing was - and has continued to be - not being able to write.

Breath and brevity are sisters; the long-winded is an enemy who muffles your heartbeat.