Making Art In America Is About Saving

Inside My Empty Bottle I Was Constructing A Lighthouse While All Others Were Making Ships.

Poetry Is An Orphan Of Silence. The Words Never Quite Equal The Experience Behind Them.

Only Brooms Know The Devil Still Exists, That The Snow Grows Whiter After A Crow Has Flown Over It

To Submit To Chance Is To Reveal The Self And Its Obsessions.

Silence Is The Only Language God Speaks.