We measure everything by ourselves with almost a necessary conceit.
One can not understand language because language cannot understand itself; does not want to understand
Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don’t love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.
No matter how many times I break…I will repair.
No matter how many times I tear…I will sew.”
-From “Towards Peace in a More Natural Order
My head is full of fire
and grief and my tongue
runs wild, pierced
with shards of glass.
Sprawled out on the front lawn Looking up at an ordinary sky It could fall on me and somehow be The day I didn’t die
Music helps to forget
This forsaken tomb,
That is my abode
Under the ground, …
I came to
pen another poem for you,
but even every unwritten poem
Your poetry–it doesn’t deserve to be locked away, hidden from the rest of the world. And neither do you.
Two forces create eternity – a fairy tale and a dream from the fairy tale.