A poet earns his bread by loving prose;
Yea, love does feed his pocket and his page;
Affection awakens the need to define -
the need to grasp the fullness of emotion
and the depth of desire,
its powers of transformation
and brain-gripping strength.
Read from the poet:
love swallows ink in its insatiable thirst for expression.
And I am no poet,
for I know love but no words.
Love does not swallow my ink,
it swallows my thoughts.
It swallows language -
What markings or order of sound
can encompass this mountain of everlasting
There is no other word or thought -
all the rest do dishonor this unconditional vastness.
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