Death Steals Everything Except Our Stories.

I Did Not Want To Live Out My Life In The Strenuous Effort To Hold A Ghost World Together. It Was Plain As The Stars That Time Herself Moved In Grand Tidal Sweeps Rather Than The Tick-tocks We Suffocate Within, And That I Must Reshape Myself To Fully Inhabit The Earth Rather Than Dawdle In The Sump Of My Foibles.

Sometimes The Only Answer To Death Is Lunch.

I Can Maintain My Sense Of The Sacredness Of Existence Only By Understanding My Own Limitations And Losing My Self-importance.

The Reason To Moderate Is To Avoid Having To Quit.

I Got $30 From Nation Magazine For A Poem And $500 For My First Book Of Poems.