The World Was Made In Order To

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

The World Was Made In Order To Result In A Beautiful Book.

I Have Made A Long Enough Descent Into The Void To Speak With Certainty. There Is Nothing But Beauty--and Beauty Has Only One Perfect Expression, Poetry. All The Rest Is A Lie.

Poets Don't Finish Poems, They Abandon Them.

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.