What Is Poetry Which Does Not Save

What Is This Enigmatic Impulse That Does Not Allow One To Settle Down In The Achieved, The Finished? I Think It Is A Quest For Reality.

When A Writer Is Born Into A Family, The Family Is Finished.

A Man Should Not Love The Moon. An Ax Should Not Lose Weight In His Hand. His Garden Should Smell Of Rotting Apples, And Grow A Fair Amount Of Nettles.

When I Die, I Will See The Lining Of The World. The Other Side, Beyond Bird, Mountain, Sunset.

A Weak Human Mercy Walks In The Corridors Of Hospitals And Is Like A Half-thawed Winter.