In My Godless Household, Poems Were The

We Are In The Grip Of Some Big Machine Grinding Us Along. The Force Of It Simplifies Everything. A Weird Calm Settled Over Me From Inside Out. What Is About To Happen Has Stood In Line To Happen. All The Roads Out Of That Instant Have Been Closed, One By One.

Childhood Was Terrifying For Me. A Kid Has No Control. You’re Three Feet Tall, Flat Broke, Unemployed, And Illiterate. Terror Snaps You Awake. You Pay Keen Attention. People Can Just Pick You Up And Move You And Put You Down.

Those Are Only Rumors Of Suffering. Real Suffering Has A Face And A Smell. It Lasts In The Most Intense Form No Matter What You Drape Over It. And It Knows Your Name.

People Who Didn't Live Pre-internet Can't Grasp How Devoid Of Ideas Life In My Hometown Was. I Stopped In The Middle Of The Sat To Memorize A Poem, Because I Thought, This Is A Great Work Of Art And I'll Never See It Again.

I Always Say That A Poet Loves The World, And The Prose Writer Needs To Create An Alternative World.