Philosophers Say Man Forms Himself In Dialogue.

What Makes Life Life And Not A Simple Story? Jagged Bits Moving Never Still, All Along The Wall.

When I Began To Be Published, People Got The Idea That I Should 'teach Writing,' Which I Have No Idea How To Do And Don't Really Believe In.

Prowling The Meanings Of A Word, Prowling The History Of A Person, No Use Expecting A Flood Of Light. Human Words Have No Main Switch. But All Those Little Kidnaps In The Dark. And Then The Luminous, Big, Shivering, Discandied, Unrepentant, Barking Web Of Them That Hangs In Your Mind When You Turn Back To The Page You Were Trying To Translate.

Then A Miracle Occurred In The Form Of A Plate Of Sandwiches. Geryon Took Three And Buried His Mouth In A Delicious Block Of White Bread Filled With Tomatoes And Butter And Salt. He Thought About How Delicious It Was, How He Liked Slippery Foods, How Slipperiness Can Be Of Different Kinds. I Am A Philosopher Of Sandwiches, He Decided. Things Good On The Inside.

Meanwhile Music Pounded / Across Hearts Opening Every Valve To The Desperate Drama Of Being / A Self In A Song.