The Wolf Is Living For The Earth.

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.

The World Rolls Under The Long Thrust Of His Heel. Over The Cage Floor The Horizons Come.

I Shall Also Take You Forth And Carve Our Names Together In A Yew Tree, Haloed With Stars.

Applause Is The Beginning Of Abuse