Expecting Rain, The Profile Of A Day

Life Is Beautiful. He Who Reads That As In The Window Of Some Distant, Speeding Train Knows What He Wants, And What Will Befall.

There Is The View That Poetry Should Improve Your Life. I Think People Confuse It With The Salvation Army.

I Don't Find Any Direct Statements In Life. My Poetry Imitates Or Reproduces The Way Knowledge Or Awareness Come To Me, Which Is By Fits And Starts And By Indirection. I Don't Think Poetry Arranged In Neat Patterns Would Reflect That Situation. My Poetry Is Disjunct, But Then So Is Life.

Poetry Is Mostly Hunches.

And We May Be Led, Then, Upward Through More Powerful Forms Of Poetry, Past Columns With Peeling Posters On Them, To The Country Of Indifference. Meanwhile If The Swell Diapasons, Blooms Unhappily And Too Soon, The Little People Are Nonetheless Real.