I, To You, Am Lost In The

I Liked Looking On At Other People In Crucial Situations. If There Was A Road Accident Or A Street Fight Or A Baby Pickled In A Laboratory Jar For Me To Look At, I'd Stop And Look So Hard I Never Forgot It.

I Want To Be Able To Sleep In An Open Field, To Travel West, To Walk Freely At Night.

I Want To Write Because I Have The Urge To Excel In One Medium Of Translation And Expression Of Life. I Can't Be Satisfied With The Colossal Job Of Merely Living. Oh, No, I Must Order Life In Sonnets And Sestinas And Provide A Verbal Reflector For My 60-watt Lighted Head.

There Is A Certain Unique And Strange Delight About Walking Down An Empty Street Alone.

The Silence Depressed Me. It Wasn't The Silence Of Silence. It Was My Own Silence.