Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.

But it seems that something has happened that has never happened before: though we know not just when, or why, or how, or where.

The old should be explorers, be curious, risk transgression, explore oldness itself.

O Lord, deliver me from the man of excellent intention and impure heart: for the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.

Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

Between the desire And the spasm, Between the potency And the existence, Between the essence And the descent, Falls the Shadow.