Show Him Every Dawn &

That's The Paradox: The Only Time Most People Feel Alive Is When They're Suffering, When Something Overwhelms Their Ordinary, Careful Armour, And The Naked Child Is Flung Out Onto The World. That's Why The Things That Are Worst To Undergo Are Best To Remember. But When That Child Gets Buried Away Under Their Adaptive And Protective Shells—he Becomes One Of The Walking Dead, A Monster.

The Inmost Spirit Of Poetry, In Other Words, Is At Bottom, In Every Recorded Case, The Voice Of Pain – And The Physical Body, So To Speak, Of Poetry, Is The Treatment By Which The Poet Tries To Reconcile That Pain With The World.

Prose, Narratives, Etcetera, Can Carry Healing. Poetry Does It More Intensely.

The Deeps Are Cold: In That Darkness Camaraderie Does Not Hold: Nothing Touches But, Clutching, Devours.

The Real Mystery Is This Strange Need. Why Can't We Just Hide It And Shut Up? Why Do We Have To Blab? Why Do Human Beings Need To Confess?