The Summer Demands And Takes Away Too

How Funny Your Name Would Be If You Could Follow It Back To Where The First Person Thought Of Saying It, Naming Himself That, Or Maybe Some Other Persons Thought Of It And Named That Person. It Would Be Like Following A River To Its Source, Which Would Be Impossible. Rivers Have No Source.

I Always Thought That Writing Poetry Was In Itself A Political Act.

In The Increasingly Convincing Darkness The Words Become Palpable, Like A Fruit That Is Too Beautiful To Eat.

I Feel That Poetry Is Going On All The Time Inside, An Underground Stream.

The Facts Of History Have Been Too Well Rehearsed.