I Haven't Written Anything In Four Years.

As If Hands Were Enough To Hold An Avalanche Off.

I Admired What My Students Were Writing, But I Think Their Improvement Doesn't Directly Result From Me But From Being In A Class, Being With Each Other.

I Was Much Influenced By Jean-paul Sartre.

Deep Feeling Doesn't Make For Good Poetry. A Way With Language Would Be A Bit Of Help.

My Thoughts Are Crowded With Death And It Draws So Oddly On The Sexual That I Am Confused To Be Attracted By, In Effect, My Own Annihilation.