Poetry endures when it possesses passionate and primally sincere clarity in the service of articulating universal human concerns.
There is a tragic clash between Truth and the world. Pure undistorted truth burns up the world.
I wish my father could be around.
Moderation is the secret of survival.
Poetry, just because it is poetry, doesn’t mean it is some kind of magic spell.
It’s hard for me to grasp that I might somehow be my father’s equal in any way.
The question of bread for myself is a material question, but the question of bread for my neighbor is a spiritual question.