The Mind Can Be Trained To Relieve

I Stared Up At The Ebbing Quarter Moon And The Stars Scattered Like A Handful Of Salt Across The Faraway Sky.

You Come By Your Style By Learning What To Leave Out. At First You Tend To Overwrite—embellishment Instead Of Insight. You Either Continue To Write Puerile Bilge, Or You Change. In The Process Of Simplifying Oneself, One Often Discovers The Thing Called Voice.

All I Wanted Was To Be A Pea Of Being Inside The Green Pod Of Time.

This Is Not What It Is Like To Be You, I Realized As A Few Of Your Magnificent Clouds Flew Over The Rooftop. It Is Just Me Thinking About Being You. And Before I Headed Back Down The Hill, I Walked In A Circle Around Your House, Making An Invisible Line Which You Would Have To Cross Before Dark.

Usually The Poems Are Written In One Sitting. There's Always A Groping Towards Some Satisfying Ending. But I'd Say The Hardest Part Is Not Writing. Once The Writing Starts, It's Too Pleasurable To Think Of It As A Difficulty.