The White Paintings Came First; My Silent

The Act Of Listening Is In Fact An Act Of Composing.

Our Poetry Now Is The Realization That We Possess Nothing. Anything Therefore Is A Delight (since We Do Not Posses It) And Thus Need Not Fear Its Loss.

If My Work Is Accepted, I Must Move On To The Point Where It Is Not.

Nothing More Than Nothing Can Be Said.

The Grand Thing About The Human Mind Is That It Can Turn Its Own Tables And See Meaninglessness As Ultimate Meaning.