The mind is smaller than the eye.

Make the visible a little hard to see.

Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.

The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

LIGHT FROM WITHIN my friend, cancer got you damn it: you had it beat for seven years at least. how did it come back? Why all that pain. again. and you, such a fighter you fought me over and over with tears and words and promises. you fought for me with honesty and a light so bright it hurts my heart. sweet lorna. at peace now finally no more battles, just light from within a flickering candle in the dark burns with you.

To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.