I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.

As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.

I think I may well be a Jew.

And so I rehabilitate myself - staying up late this Friday night in spite of vowing to go to bed early, because it is more important to capture moments like this, keen shifts in mood, sudden veering of direction - than to lose it in slumber.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.

I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.

For the few little successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgivings and self-doubt.