Poetry is a presentiment of the truth.
Tell me what's the difference
The way a source strains toward the light, toward the air. Its laboring work, its effort, its black passageways like despair. That’s the way a poet looks for words. With muscles, gestures.
Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.
I write in order to comprehend, not to express myself.
Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.