The winds that blow
Ask them, which leaf of the tree
Will be the next to go.

The last level of metaphor in the Alice books is this: that life, viewed rationally and without illusion, appears to be a nonsense tale told by an idiot mathematician. At the heart of things science finds only a mad, never-ending quadrille of Mock Turtle Waves and Gryphon Particles. For a moment the waves and particles dance in grotesque, inconceivably complex patterns capable of reflecting on their own absurdity.

Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die

The only problem
with Haiku is that you just
get started and then

a definition of poetry

“imaginary gardens with real toads in them”

I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.