Writings Welcome to my brain. Art in general and poetry in particular, when it is true and good, is the very impulse-energy of Reality itself. The poet harnesses drastically chaotic forces and tames them into a kind of potent eidolon. Tradition has yielded much in the way of facsimile but little in the way of absolute sizzle, a trembling instantly recognizable as, indeed, the very impulse-energy of Reality itself.
Poetry is a natural asterisk, exploring that presence in language called undeveloped meaning.
The seasoning of incoherence lends preternatural force to the beacon of surely consuming verse. There is absolutely nothing to communicate but the everlasting fruits of noumena, and these exquisite thought-forms depend upon a poetry which allows the freak to inflate, which skips the limits of systems, which contains the muted smells and tastes of dreams, metallic spongy boulevards, summer swamps begging for breath, etc. Required is a style which sheds its own substance, a form which hides its own content, a rough elation of the word. Required is a discourse which is about what you're thinking about when you're not thinking about anything. Required is a poetry which loses everything in translation.