A true confession: I believe in a soluble fish.
One writes because one has been touched by the yearning for and the despair of ever touching the Other.
Poetry: three mismatched shoes at the entrance of a dark alley.
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.
Poetry is an orphan of silence.
I slept little, read a lot, and fell in love frequently.
Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.