We are together how and what we eat together. But we don't eat together.
Is it any wonder that we are not together?
Well, I'm not sure that's why we read, though it sounds nice. Perhaps some read for that reason, perhaps others don't. Still, that's not why I read, so, you know...As for all that writing, besides malignant narcissism, which is obvious, I just don't have an explanation. For what it's worth, I just have to write when I have to write - the urge to compose a poem comes over me the way the urge to gamble or the urge to drink that seventh bottle of whiskey comes over others. I love words, the music of language, the challenge of composing in difficult forms...none of this is helping others know they are not alone, is it?
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