Metaphor is not, and never has been, a mere literary term. It is an event.

I hated childhood / I hate adulthood / And I love being alive.

If you have any idea for a poem, an exact grid of intent, you are on the wrong path, a dead-end alley, at the top of a cliff you haven't even climbed. This is a lesson that can only be learned by trial and error.

Words have a love for each other, a desire that culminates in poetry.

I remember being so young I thought all artists were famous.

Although all poets aspire to be birds, no bird aspires to be a poet.

In our marginal existence, what else is there but this voice within us, this great weirdness we are always leaning forward to listen to?