Poetry led me by the hand out of madness.

There is hope.There is hope everywhere.Today God gives milkand I have the pail

I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.

Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.

My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.

I said, the poets are there I hear them singing and lying around their round table and around me still.

You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.