I Didn't Choose Poetry: Poetry Chose Me.

Home Is So Sad. It Stays As It Was Left, / Shaped To The Comfort Of The Last To Go / As If To Win Them Back

How Little Our Careers Express What Lies In Us, And Yet How Much Time They Take Up. It's Sad, Really.

Life Is First Boredom, Then Fear.

Give Me A Thrill, Says The Reader, Give Me A Kick; I Don't Care How You Succeed, Or What Subject You Pick.

If You Tell A Novelist, 'life's Not Like That', He Has To Do Something About It. The Poet Simply Replies, 'no, But I Am.'