To Wear The Arctic Fox You Have

In A Poem The Excitement Has To Maintain Itself. I Am Governed By The Pull Of The Sentence As The Pull Of A Fabric Is Governed By Gravity.

[the] Whirlwind Fife-and-drum Of The Storm Bends The Salt Marsh Grass, Disturbs Stars In The Sky And The Star On The Steeple; It Is A Privilege To See So Much Confusion.

One Must Be As Clear As One's Natural Reticence Allows One To Be.

To Wear The Arctic Fox You Have To Kill It.

One Writes Because One Has A Burning Desire To Objectify What It Is Indispensable To One's Happiness To Express.