The Flesh Is Sad, Alas, And I

It Is The Job Of Poetry To Clean Up Our Word-clogged Reality By Creating Silences Around Things.

Everything That Is Sacred And That Wishes To Remain So Must Envelop Itself In Mystery.

Paint, Not The Thing But The Effect Which It Produces.

As For Me, Poetry Takes The Place Of Love, Because It Is Enamored Of Itself, And Because This Self-lust Has A Delightful Dying Fall In My Soul.

To Define Is To Kill. To Suggest Is To Create.