You can read everybody. It's not even interesting to tell the truth because to some extent it's false.
This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.
We all want what's been suddenly disallowed.
When will government cease being a nuisance to everybody?
The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.
I defer to all these other American poets who, for some reason, I both envy and admire.