Love Is Form, And Cannot Be Without

There Are No Hierarchies, No Infinite, No Such Many As Mass, There Are Only/ Eyes In All Heads,/ To Be Looked Out Of.

The Poem, For Me, Is Simply The First Sound Realized In The Modality Of Being.

I'm Trying To Climb Up Both Walls At Once.

All That Matters Is That The Thing Be The Thing Of The Thing.

What Pudor Pejorocracy Affronts How Awe, Night-rest And Neighborhood Can Rot What Breeds Where Dirtiness Is Law What Crawls Below