He Who Cannot Howl Will

Poetry Is An Orphan Of Silence.

There’s No Preparation For Poetry.

There Are People Who Live Inside Their Heads And Their Intellects. It's Something One Is Born With And Stuck With. It's Not Something You Make A Decision About.

A 'truth' Detached And Purified Of Pleasures Of Ordinary Life Is Not Worth A Damn In My View. Every Grand Theory And Noble Sentiment Ought To Be First Tested In The Kitchen-and Then In Bed, Of Course.

We Name One Thing And Then Another. That’s How Time Enters Poetry. Space, On The Other Hand, Comes Into Being Through The Attention We Pay To Each Word. The More Intense Our Attention, The More Space, And There’s A Lot Of Space Inside Words.