Hope Sleeps In Our Bones Like A

Burning Dinner Is Not Incompetence But War.

I Don't Even Remember What Mother And I Quarreled About: It Is A Continual Quarrel That Began When I Reached Puberty.

I Think That If You Use Something From You Life In Fiction, It Metamorphosizes Into Something Strange And Different. Afterward It Is Hard To Tell What Actually Was Part Of Your Life And What Is Part Of The Story Of The Fictional Character.

Every Poet Has A Certain Amount Of "stuff." That's What You Draw From For Imagery. The More Stuff You Know Well, Not Simply Intellectually But Sensually, Emotionally, Intimately, The Wider The Pool From Which You Draw.

Learning To Love Differently Is Hard, Love With The Hands Wide Open, Love With The Doors Banging On Their Hinges, The Cupboard Unlocked, The Windroaring And Whimpering In The Rooms.