A Poem Has Secrets That The Poet

It Is My Heart That's Late, It Is My Song That's Flown.

The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

The Heart Breaks And Breaks And Lives By Breaking It Is Necessary To Go Through Dark And Deeper Dark And Not To Turn

I Want To Write Poems That Are Natural, Luminous, Deep, Spare. I Dream Of An Art So Transparent That You Can Look Through And See The World.

Certainly The Modern Poets I Cherish Most Are Disturbing Spirits; They Do Not Come To Coo.