“The poet…is the man of metaphor: while the philosopher is interested only in the truth of meaning, beyond even signs and names, and the sophist manipulates empty signs…the poet plays on the multiplicity of signifieds.”
— Jacques Derrida
Poet has to know it, own it, NOW it, kicking okay won it… wonk it (won’t fit)
hold it… told
long before I met a fore thought meant to forge-force-urges
ogres to grow
small, as servants suffocate, focus: they had tools and ate
only interested in anything, but truth is… even – empty lies must exist
philo love, feel the love, feed the doves, fold the rug
hell pit, can I help it… hellOH pen it!
excavate minds – mine – to find exploding see through flashing signs
reading, I learnt secret games, so I know all the secret names.