You Can't Imagine How Hard I Am

He Wondered If What He Had Taken For The Richness Of Silence Was Really The Poverty Of Never Being Heard [...]. How Could He Have Forgotten What He Had Always Known: There Is No Match For The Silence Of God.

The Rhyme Always Knows Better Than You, And Leads You To Places Where You Wouldn't Otherwise Have Gotten To And That Is Absolutely The Case. Leading Off From Formal Poetry, There Is Something About When You Pay Attention To Form And You Allow It To Have Its Own Laws And You Listen To Those Laws You Really Do End Up In Places You Wouldn't Otherwise Go. Which Isn't To Say That I Believe In Following The Rules When I Write. I Don't. Each Of The Forms In My Books Feels To Me New.

In Life We Sit At The Table And Refuse To Eat, And In Death We Are Eternally Hungry.

She [my Mother] Was The Force Around Which Our World Turned. My Mother Was Propelled Through The Universe By The Brute Force Of Reason. She Was The Judge In All Our Arguments. One Disapproving Word From Her Was Enough To Send Us Off To Hide In A Corner, Where We Would Cry And Fantasize Our Own Martyrdom. And Yet. One Kiss Could Restore Us To Princedom. Without Her, Our Lives Would Dissolve Into Chaos.

There Is A Fallacy That The Powerful Emotion Of Youth Mellows With Time. Not True. One Learns To Control And Suppress It. But It Doesn't Lessen. It Simply Hides And Concentrates Itself In More Discreet Places. When One Accidentally Stumbles Into One Of These Abysses, The Pain Is Spectacular.