Poets yearn, of course, to be published, read, and understood, but they do little, if anything, to set themselves above the common herd and the daily grind.

I'm one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.

I don't know the role I'm playing. I only know it's mine, non-convertible.

This terrifying world is not devoid of charms, of the mornings that make waking up worthwhile.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

Inspiration is not the exclusive privilege of poets or artists. There is, there has been, there will always be a certain group of people whom inspiration visits. It's made up of all those who've consciously chosen their calling and do their job with love and imagination. Difficulties and setbacks never quell their curiosity. A swarm of new questions emerges from every problem that they solve. Whatever inspiration is, it's born from a continuous 'I don't know.'

I prefer the absurdity of writing poems to the absurdity of not writing poems.