The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

The Poem In The Head Is Always Perfect. Resistance Begins When You Try To Convert It Into Language.

Darling, Do You Remember The Man You Married? Touch Me, Remind Me Who I Am.

Poetry Is The Enemy Of The Poem.

How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled / To Its Feast Of Losses?

...few Young Poets [are] Testing Their Poems Against The Ear. They're Writing For The Page, And The Page, Let Me Tell You, Is A Cold Bed.