Poetry Is An Orphan Of Silence.

Words Make Love On The Page Like Flies In The Summer Heat And The Poet Is Only The Bemused Spectator.

There Are Knives That Glitter Like Altars In A Dark Church Where They Bring The Cripple And The Imbecile To Be Healed. There's A Woden Block Where Bones Are Broken, Scraped Clean--a River Dried To Its Bed

Here Is Something We Can All Count On. Sooner Or Later Our Tribe Always Comes To Ask Us To Agree To Murder.

I'm Not A Stickler For Truth. To Me, Lying In Poetry Is Much More Fun. I'm Against Lying In Life, In Principle, In Any Other Activity Except Poetry.

Only Poetry Can Measure The Distance Between Ourselves And The Other.