My 'third leg' is longer than my two other legs and that's why I wear such big baggy pants.
Isn't there a curious elegance in how one moment passes into another?
And the words we find are always insufficient, like love, though they are often lovely and all we have.
I’ve had it with all stingy-hearted sons of bitches. A heart is to be spent.
What feeling feels like over time. An attempt to screw up what feeling feels like over time. Heartbreak and a high C. . . . The often welcome melodic lie. . . . The soul's undersong. The orchestration of randomness, a flirtation with the boundaries of silence and space. . . . a reminder that the self wants to disappear, be taken away from itself and returned.
I wrote poetry for seven or eight years, maybe longer, before I could say I was a poet. If people asked, I'd say I wrote poetry; I wouldn't go further. I was in my mid- to late-thirties before I felt that I was a poet, which I think meant that I had begun to embody my poems in some way. I wasn't just a writer of them. Hard to say what, as a poet, my place in the world is. Some place probably between recognition and neglect.
There are always the simple events of your life that you might try to convert into legend.
In this world, I call the shots and I think I know best.
The Biblical world-view is the only one that accepts the reality of evil and suffering while giving both the cause and the purpose, while offering God-given strength and sustenance in the midst of it.
Venice, as a city, was a foundling, floating upon the waters like Moses in his basket among the bulrushes.
Never wallow in your troubles; despair must be kept private and brief.