How terrible the need for God.
The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.
I learned not to fear infinity, The far field, the windy cliffs of forever, The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow, The wheel turning away from itself, The sprawl of the wave, The on-coming water.
A mind too active is no mind at all.
What's important? That which is dug out of books, or out of the guts?
I am overwhelmed by the beautiful disorder of poetry, the eternal virginity of words.