Existence Will Not Stop Until

It Is When You Are Asking About Something That You Realize You Yourself Have Survived It, And So You Must Carry It, Or Fashion It Into A Thing That Carries Itself.

A Thinking Mind Is Not Swallowed Up By What It Comes To Know. It Reaches Out To Grasp Something Related To Itself And To Its Present Knowledge (and So Knowable In Some Degree) But Also Separate From Itself And From Its Present Knowledge (not Identical With These). In Any Act Of Thinking, The Mind Must Reach Across This Space Between Known And Unknown, Linking One To The Other But Also Keeping Visible To Difference. It Is An Erotic Space.

I Never Had Much Education In English Poetry As Such.

When They Made Love Geryon Liked To Touch In Slow Succession Each Of The Bones Of Herakles' Back As It Arched Away From Him Into Who Knows What Dark Dream Of Its Own, Running Both Hands All The Way Down From The Base Of The Neck To The End Of The Spine Which He Can Cause To Shiver Like A Root In The Rain.

To Be Running Breathlessly, But Not Yet Arrived, Is Itself Delightful, A Suspended Moment Of Living Hope.