He talked of nothingness until it wasn’t.
He bragged his gravity into God.
What did he learn when he learned of his own bad heart?
That scared and sacred are but a beat apart.
His eyes were open but his heart was shut.
At the edge of every wonder he said But...
The clearest morning is a thing to bear,
he writes, overjoyed, as usual, by despair.
To touch the summit was to learn so much.
there are some summits that you cannot touch.
Faith Is Action!
Me and my guillotine dreams:
Every impulse ends in seems.
He names his love by naming what he hates.
Joy generalizes. Pain individuates.
Why wouldn’t I praise the vacuous black?
The one abundance I could trust was lack.