What happens when a female writer invokes a female muse? Does something else happen? With Sappho's figures of desire, we have a different lesbian energy.

[Cancer] didn't make me more intense about not working more and just having fun more. It didn't do that either. 

Singing has nothing to do with poetry, except as twins separated at birth.

Signs of a maddening system of writing and counting that calibrates the values of something the poet does not yet know. Praxis is therefore poetics.

As a first-generation "Asian American woman," for one thing, I knew there was no such thing as an "Asian American woman." Within this homogenizing labeling of an exotica, I knew there were entire racial/national/cultural/sexual-preferenced groups, many of whom find each other as alien as mainstream America apparently finds me.

Philosophy is a bad master for poetry; religion worse; and politics self-serving will never serve the Muse.

If you've been in a symbolic struggle long enough, even when the struggle is over, you don't know it's over.