What comes into the world to disturb nothing merits neither attention nor patience
To be a poet is to have an appetite for a certain anxiety which, when tasted among the swirling sum of things existent or forfeit, causes, as the taste dies, joy.
Man is able to do what he is unable to imagine. His head trails a wake through the galaxy of the absurd.
How can we live without the unknown before us?
A poet should leave traces of his passage, not proofs. Traces alone engender dreams.
Develop your legitimate strangeness.