As this life is not a gate, but the horse plunging through it.
If truth is the lure, humans are fishes.
How fragile we are, between the few good moments.
I will never become a horse trainer, a biologist, a person competent with a hammer. My loves were my loves.
History, mythology, and folktales are filled with stories of people punished for saying the truth. Only the Fool, exempt from society's rules, is allowed to speak with complete freedom.
I want to understand the piers of language and music and comprehension that can hold up a building even when what the building houses is an earthquake. This thinking must surely come into the poems I write, but more by osmosis than will.