“He who arrives at the door of poetry without the madness of the muses, thinking that he can be a good poet thanks solely to techne remains incomplete, and the poetry is eclipsed by that of the mad.” Plato
the keyhole
of my broad back
of
my ignorance were i
ignorant as all the philosophers
poured into a visible earthen mold
be invincibly
ignorant for being
unreached but unreachable
this
condition is
the key then to
to verdant madness
and made
one less
the
light the winged the
sacred thing of madness
i am stone
the
poem
is no more
no
i am so enamored
no
i am
so
enamored
no
i am so enamored
no
i am so enamored
no
i am so enamored
