The Worst Tragedy For A Poet Is

Do Not Take Up Cause Against The Inaccuracies Printed About You. They Are Your Protection.

The Instinct Of Nearly All Societies Is To Lock Up Anybody Who Is Truly Free. First, Society Begins By Trying To Beat You Up. If This Fails, They Try To Poison You. If This Fails Too, The Finish By Loading Honors On Your Head.

I Have Seafoam In My Veins, I Understand The Language Of Waves.

The Poet, By Composing Poems, Uses A Language That Is Neither Dead Nor Living, That Few People Speak, And Few People Understand We Are The Servants Of An Unknown Force That Lives Within Us, Manipulates Us, And Dictates This Language To Us.

After You Have Written A Thing And You Reread It, There Is Always The Temptation To Fix It Up, To Improve It, To Remove Its Poison, Blunt Its Sting.