I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.

Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.

I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.

The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of stories, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.

If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I'll laugh. And then I'll know what life is.

The one man in the room who was as big as his poems, huge, with hulk and dynamic chunks of words.