The poet is like the earth’s shadow. The sun moves, and the poet writes something down.
Sunday is a likely day to write a poem. Because poetry is a piece of language flying around: you’ll find notebooks, something on your phone. It’s about finding them and getting them off that crumpled piece of paper and onto my computer.
Dogs are a companion species. It’s about time – you have an animal for about 15, 16 years, a generation. That time holds so much. You might have had five or six relationships with human beings but one dog.
Older men get lovable, and older women get monstrous.
I’ve had a lifelong waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop feeling when something good happens.
I tend to view my life as an accident, almost as a dream.
I’d like to sit down with Hillary Clinton onstage and ask her about Glass Steagall and all the big banks and her own campaign contributions.
Everybody loved me running for president in ’91 and ’92 because they never knew a presidential candidate before.
I wake up with a sense of wonder. I don’t dread the future. I like it.
With Instagram, you’re captioning a moment. Twitter is the caption without the image. Even if it’s there, the words come first.