If you're hooked on the physical act of writing, there's a good chance of your hanging in there long enough to say what you were born to say.
Every poem, formal or free, has an ideal shape, and the job of the poet is to find it.
The trick is, to treat your days as if each one may be your last.
I loved a woman whose beauty Like the moon moved all the humming heavens to music till the stars with their tiny teeth burst into song and I fell on the ground before her while the sky hardened and she laughed and turned me down softly, I was so young.
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