I Thought Originally When I Was In

But Some Nights, I Must Tell You, I Go Down There After Everyone Has Fallen Asleep. I Swim Back And Forth In The Echoing Blackness. I Sing A Love Song As Well As I Can, Lost For A While In The Home Of The Rain.

You Come By Your Style By Learning What To Leave Out. At First You Tend To Overwrite—embellishment Instead Of Insight. You Either Continue To Write Puerile Bilge, Or You Change. In The Process Of Simplifying Oneself, One Often Discovers The Thing Called Voice.

Death Is What Makes Life Fun.

No One Here Likes A Wet Dog.

I'm A Line-maker. I Think That's What Makes Poets Different From Prose-writers. That's The Main Way. We Think, Not Just In Sentences The Way Prose Writers Do But Also In Lines. So We're Doing These Two Things At The Same Time.