Today when two people decide upon a thoughtless and precipitate abbreviation of the physical space between them, they think, at least at that moment, that they're mutually attracted and drawn together by an overwhelming force.

Contemporary poets are skeptical and suspicious even, or perhaps especially, about themselves. They publicly confess to being poets only reluctantly, as if they were a little ashamed of it. But in our clamorous times it's much easier to acknowledge your faults, at least if they're attractively packaged, than to recognize your own merits, since these are hidden deeper and you never quite believe in them yourself.

Even boredom should be described with gusto. How many things are happening on a day when nothing happens?

All the best have something in common, a regard for reality, an agreement to its primacy over the imagination.

I'm fighting against the bad poet who is prone to using too many words.

I started earning a living as a poet rather early on.

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