Somehow the body,
in its entirety
and its privacy,
is our answer.

I comes at you like rain;
you weather it.

Turn a paragraph; write beside a strophe.

The wonder is not what human bodies can do but that human bodies can do it.

Youth is the (blessed) inability to distinguish between the discovery and invention of who you are.

Poems are composed. Philosophies are compromised.

Was der Fall ist

The world is everything that is the case; history befalls us.

Why do I write? When people tell me I have hurt them, I have a large space inside me to process their complaint. That's it.

Every poem is composed in composure;
every philosophy, compromised by compromise.

Nothing cannot be
described
out of existence;

It can't be understood
away.