When You Get An Idea, Go And

Certainly, It Seems True Enough That There's A Good Deal Of Irony In The World... I Mean, If You Live In A World Full Of Politicians And Advertising, There's Obviously A Lot Of Deception.

It Seems Everything Is So Full Of Possibilities One Can Hardly Take It All In.

One Day The Nouns Were Clustered In The Street. An Adjective Walked By, With Her Dark Beauty. The Nouns Were Struck, Moved, Changed. The Next Day A Verb Drove Up, And Created The Sentence.

I Thought, 'there Are A Lot Of Poets Who Have The Courage To Look Into The Abyss, But There Are Very Few Who Have The Courage To Look Happiness In The Face And Write About It,' Which Is What I Wanted To Be Able To Do.

All Poetry Comes From Repetition.