We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.
I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing.
Literature exists because the world isn't enough.
Without madness what is man But a wholesome beast, Postponed corpse that begets?
I carry my awareness of defeat like a banner of victory.
I was a poet animated by philosophy, not a philosopher with poetic faculties.