The truest writers are those who see language not as a linguistic process but as a living element.
We read, we travel, we become.
Who cares about a kid from the Midwest writing pentameter? It's stupid.
The future happens. No matter how much we scream.
I too saw the wooden horse blocking the stars.
Slowly my body grows a single sound, slowly I become a bell, an oval, disembodied vowel, I grow, an owl, an aureole, white fire poesia "Metamorfosi, I. Luna