The Northern Lights Rise Like A Kiss

...you Have To Pass An Exam, And The Jobs That You Get Are Either To Shine Shoes, Or To Herd Cows, Or To Tend Pigs. Thank God, I Don't Want Any Of That! Damn It! And Besides That They Smack You For A Reward; They Call You An Animal And It's Not True, A Little Kid, Etc.. Oh! Damn Damn Damn Damn Damn!

My Wisdom Is As Spurned As Chaos. What Is My Nothingness, Compared To The Amazement That Awaits You?

It Began As Research. I Wrote Of Silences, Of Nights, I Scribbled The Indescribable. I Tied Down The Vertigo.

The Wolf Howled Under The Leaves And Spit Out The Prettiest Feathers Of His Meal Of Fowl: Like Him I Consume Myself.

The Poet, Therefore, Is Truly The Thief Of Fire. He Is Responsible For Humanity, For Animals Even; He Will Have To Make Sure His Visions Can Be Smelled, Fondled, Listened To; If What He Brings Back From Beyond Has Form, He Gives It Form; If It Has None, He Gives It None. A Language Must Be Found…of The Soul, For The Soul And Will Include Everything: Perfumes, Sounds Colors, Thought Grappling With Thought