"The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,
and invisible guests come in and out at will."
— Czeslaw Milosz, Ars Poetica, c. 1980 (via poetryeater)
When the good rain comes, grab a big glass and drink and be happy.
Someone said you were dead
it’s not that I didn’t care
You were not bacterial
You were not frozen water in winter
You were not a hairbrush broken by hair
You were a treasure of gold in the world-toilet
For you appraised the world of grains
And flung the earth to the earth
The good wine is mixed with the bad wine,
come to the wine jar’s lips and let’s unmix it
Poor people only have one soul
but you and I have two
let’s go on vacation to Mexico or Rome
Everybody returns home
How should old people associate with young people?
Shut up—Be like a compass. The King
has erased your name from the book of speech