There Is No Person Without A World.

As Sokrates Tells It, Your Story Begins The Moment Eros Enters You. That Incursion Is The Biggest Risk Of Your Life. How You Handle It Is An Index Of The Quality, Wisdom, And Decorum Of The Things Inside You. As You Handle It You Come Into Contact With What Is Inside You, In A Sudden And Startling Way. You Perceive What You Are, What You Lack, What You Could Be.

Pleasure And Pain At Once Register Upon The Lover, Inasmuch As The Desirability Of The Love Object Derives, In Part, From Its Lack. To Whom Is It Lacking? To The Lover. If We Follow The Trajectory Of Eros We Consistently Find It Tracing Out This Same Route: It Moves Out From The Lover Toward The Beloved, Then Ricochets Back To The Lover Himself And The Hole In Him, Unnoticed Before. Who Is The Subject Of Most Love Poems? Not The Beloved. It Is That Hole.

Making Is Always A Slightly Hopeful Thing Because Once You've Made Something, It'll - The World Will Be Different.

M: Is He Smart I: She Yes Very Smart Sees Right Through Me M: In My Day We Valued Blindness Rather More

Poetry - Poiesis Means A Thing Made.