It is only given these characteristics, so that we can pretend not to notice it. The true poet lives in earshot of these forces, and sometimes appears mad. Unable to sleep with the noise of this friction and stillness that come and go in equal parts. But, always drawn to it. One ear to the struggle, the other ear already deaf from listening too much.
Poetry is the common tongue as it appears in dreams.
We do not hear it, but feel it. Language is the finding of the Verb. There is no Noun in Language. Language is the source of motion, which enters and emerges from the Void all at once. Beginning with the listener, the word, and finally the silence.