I start off but I don't know where I'm going; I try this avenue and that avenue, that turns out to be a dead end, this is a dead end, and so on. The search takes a long time and I have to back-track often.

The first step... shall be to lose the way.

Perhaps poetry will be the canary in the mine-shaft warning us of what's to come.

Is there a mechanism of death, that so mutilates existence no one, gets over it not even the dead?

Go so deep into yourself, you speak for everyone.

There are two versions to every poem – the crying version and the straight version

Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.