“Can knowledge be conveyed that isn't felt?But if transport's the problem -they tell me get a job and earn yourselfan automobile-I'd rather collect my partsas I go: chair, desk, houseand crankshaft Shakespeare.Generator boy, Paul, love is carriedif it's held.”

“I rose from marsh mudalgae, equisetum, willows,sweet green, noisybirds and frogs.”

“I was the solitary plovera pencil for a wing-boneFrom the secret notesI must tiltupon the pressureexecute and adjust In us sea-air rhythm"We live by the urgent waveof the verse”

“What would they say if they knewI sit for two monthson six lines of poetry?”

“The problem, says my sister, Kelly, is not that I can't get over Naomi - it's that I refuse to.... Loving Naomi and waiting for her to come back to me - it's not a stalker thing, but more like a personal mission. A job.”

“Problem is, once I sit at my desk and put all these down on paper. I realize something vital is missing. It doesn't crystallize - no crystals, just pebbles. And I'm not transported anywhere.”

“I am simply impressed by the unexpected insights which shower down on me when my job is to imagine, as contrasted with the woodenly familiar ideas which clutter my desk when my job is to tell the truth.”