Poetry Is An Orphan Of Silence.

The Truth Is Dark Under Your Eyelids.

There Are Knives That Glitter Like Altars In A Dark Church Where They Bring The Cripple And The Imbecile To Be Healed. There's A Woden Block Where Bones Are Broken, Scraped Clean--a River Dried To Its Bed

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

The Poem I Want To Write Is Impossible. A Stone That Floats.

To Submit To Chance Is To Reveal The Self And Its Obsessions.