You Meet A New Person, You Go

There Is No Articulate Resonance. The Common Problem, I Suppose, Is To Have More To Say Than Vocabulary And Syntax Can Bear. That Is Why I Am Hunting In These Desiccated Streets. The Smoke Hides The Sky's Variety, Stains Consciousness, Covers The Holocaust With Something Safe And Insubstantial. It Protects From Greater Flame. It Indicates Fire, But Obscures The Source. This Is Not A Useful City. Very Little Here Approaches Any Eidolon Of The Beautiful.

There Is A Sense Of Decency That's Like A Barometer To A Man's Or A Country's Health.

The Poems ... Are Moments When I Had The Intensity To See, And The Energy To Build, Some Careful Analog That Completed The Seeing. ... All I Have Been Left Is The Exhausting Habit Of Trying To Tack Up The Slack In My Life With Words.

Reality Must Prove Itself Again And Again To Questioners ... It Is The Fantasy Which Goes On Without Contradiction, Without Having To Prove Itself.

I Think Of Myself As A Very Lazy Writer, Though Other People See It Differently.