I See The Poem Or

Jung Was Absolutely Right About One Thing. We Are Occupied By Gods. The Mistake Is To Identify With The God Occupying You.

What He Would Say, He Cannot Say To This Woman Whose Openness Is Like A Wound, Whose Youth Is Not Mortal Yet. He Cannot Alter What He Loves Most In Her, Her Lack Of Compromise, Where The Romance Of The Poems She Loves Still Sits With Ease In The Real World. Outside These Qualities He Knows There Is No Order In The World.

I Don't See Novels Ending With Any Real Sense Of Closure.

I Am Not In Love With Him, I Am In Love With Ghosts. So Is He, He's In Love With Ghosts.

Here. Where I Am Anonymous And Alone In A White Room With No History And No Parading. So I Can Make Something Unknown In The Shape Of This Room. Where I Am King Of Corners.