You are what you read. I know this isn’t the axiom we are used to, but it works well for me. If indeed I were what I ate, I would have fallen through the fragile crust of the earth by now.
I worry of becoming Polly Parrot picking up phrases and perpetually propagating prose. Although I do not recant my previous post on my position of contemporary poetry, I shall state clearly that it is SOME, not all that bother me. More and more I find it soothing (shall I not?) and the missing points I ponder over with such passionate decision, seem to find a place to nest and settle in.
I merely hope my eggs are fresh.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology