We are all jellyfish, too pitiful and too afraid of being disliked to be honest.
A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.
Do I think there's life after death? No, I think my books are my life after death.
over and over again I am struck by the wordiness of modern poetry, as if language had replaced experience and must be more and more extreme, intricate and in a way divorced from life itself. It seems as if what we all need is a great purification - but how will that come about?
Do we always make our freedom out of someone else's bondage?
Read between the lines.Then meet me in the silence if you can.