I suppose I'm saying that defiance is actually part of the lyric job

I have begun to think of life as a series of ripples widening out from an original center.

History says, Don’t hope On this side of the grave, But then, once in a lifetime The longed-for tidal wave Of justice can rise up, And hope and history rhyme

Sink every impulse like a bolt. Secure The bastion of sensation. Do not waver Into language. Do not waver in it.

I suppose I'm saying that defiance is actually part of the lyric job

Without needing to be theoretically instructed, consciousness quickly realizes that it is the site of variously contending discourses.

The dotted line my father's ashplant made On Sandymount Strand Is something else the tide won't wash away.