He who jumps into the void owes no explanation to those who stand and watch.
It was autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive.
, from Still Life with Woodpecker
(Bantam Books, 1980)
I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
I am alive. I am here. I am trying. That is enough.
“I’m the one that’s got to die when it’s time for me to die, so let me live my life the way I want to.” - Jimi Hendrix
Adults complaining about the younger generation are really just saying their generation did a shitty job raising their kids.
I began composing the next poem, the one that was to be written next. Not the last poem of those I had read, but the poem written in the head of someone who may never have existed but who had certainly written another poem nonetheless, and just never had the chance to commit it to ink and the page.