You're Rowing By Wordlight

The Language With Which I Make My Poems Has Nothing To Do With One Spoken Here, Or Anywhere.

The Two Heart-grey Puddles: Two Mouthsfull Of Silence.

Don't Sign Your Name Between Worlds, Surmount The Manifold Of Meanings, Trust The Tearstain, Learn To Live.

No One Bears Witness For The Witness

We Are Told That When Hölderlin Went 'mad,' He Constantly Repeated, 'nothing Is Happening To Me, Nothing Is Happening To Me.'