Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
The sanest thing in this world is love.
To be without God is to be a snake / who wants to swallow an elephant.
I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.