Life Pulls Softly Inside Your Bindings. The

Novels Institutionalize The Ruse Of Eros. It Becomes A Narrative Texture Of Sustained Incongruence, Emotional And Cognitive. It Permits The Reader To Stand In Triangular Relation To The Characters In The Story And Reach Into The Text After The Objects Of Their Desire, Sharing Their Longing But Also Detached From It, Seeing Their View Of Reality But Also Its Mistakenness. It Is Almost Like Being In Love.

He Came After Homer And Before Gertrude Stein, A Difficult Interval For A Poet.

I Mean, Every Thought Starts Over, So Every Expression Of A Thought Has To Do The Same. Every Accuracy Has To Be Invented... I Feel I Am Blundering In Concepts Too Fine For Me.

I Don't Read Reviews And I Don't Know What To Do With Opinions, So I Just Lose Them. They Take Up Space, They Become A Process Of Manufacturing A Persona, Which I Want To Avoid.

The Man Has A Theory. The Woman Has Hipbones. Here Comes Death.