A Poem Has Secrets That The Poet

Darling, Do You Remember The Man You Married? Touch Me, Remind Me Who I Am.

Live In The Layers, Not On The Litter.

...few Young Poets [are] Testing Their Poems Against The Ear. They're Writing For The Page, And The Page, Let Me Tell You, Is A Cold Bed.

The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

I Dropped My Hoe And Ran Into The House And Started To Write This Poem, 'end Of Summer.’ It Began As A Celebration Of Wild Geese. Eventually The Geese Flew Out Of The Poem, But I Like To Think They Left Behind The Sound Of Their Beating Wings.