Poetry Is An Orphan Of Silence.

The Ambition Of Much Of Today's Literary Theory Seems To Be To Find Ways To Read Literature Without Imagination.

One Writes Because One Has Been Touched By The Yearning For And The Despair Of Ever Touching The Other.

Found Objects, Chance Creations, Ready-mades (mass-produced Items Promoted Into Art Objects, Such As Duchamp's "fountain"-urinal As Sculpture) Abolish The Separation Between Art And Life. The Commonplace Is Miraculous If Rightly Seen.

The Stone Is A Mirror Which Works Poorly. Nothing In It But Dimness. Your Dimness Or Its Dimness, Who's To Say? In The Hush Your Heart Sounds Like A Black Cricket.

The Stars Know Everything, So We Try To Read Their Minds. As Distant As They Are, We Choose To Whisper In Their Presence.