Knowing is overrated. So is thinking. I feel, therefore, I think I Am (because nobody knows anything about anybody, not even themselves). Feelings are less transitory in my life than thinking, but for most people, it's the other way around. Be you. We are all just guessing our way through this thing we call life. I didn't even notice that no one commented on any of my poems for five years. When I realized how long I went without a comment, I didn't blame anyone. I was a little sad, feeling alone, but I didn't blame anyone for not knowing what to say. I was probably crazy, like a lot of us poets are, but ultimately, I was only writing for myself anyway. Everything was so abstract, readers just scratched their heads and moved on. I don't know if my being alive is a miracle or if I'm just too stupid to move on myself. I do know how to laugh at irony from time to time.
My pen is my oar.