While all bodies share the same fate, all voices do not.

Maybe being winged means being wounded by infinity.

That's what I want, that kind of recklessness where the poem is even ahead of you. It's like riding a horse that's a little too wild for you, so there's this tension between what you can do and what the horse decides it's going to do.

A poem is like a score for the human voice.

I am that last, that final thing, the body in a white sheet listening.

Brimming. That's what it is, I want to get to a place where my sentences enact brimming.

While all bodies share the same fate, all voices do not.