Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.
I slept little, read a lot, and fell in love frequently.
Poetry is an orphan of silence.
In their effort to divorce language and experience, deconstructionist critics remind me of middle-class parents who do not allow their children to play in the street.
One writes because one has been touched by the yearning for and the despair of ever touching the Other.
A true confession: I believe in a soluble fish.
