returning home with no music

oh, bitter death

i meet you upon return

with sadden ears and a poisoned mouth

i wish that you would hide

enough i've had of your seductive rage

piercing through the heart-range of my life

enough

i say

enough

it must be time to die

time for some new me to arise

and touch someone with my cries

*Reflections of Jean Sulivan:

-To write is to enter into silence, to speak in a low voice for the few who enter into silence with you because they recognize a voice that is rising up out of themselves.

-If so many human beings live in appearances and exhaust themselves in the theater of the world, it is in order to cover over the depth of the abyss.

-*...to write is to forget, to allow memory to become flesh until there emerges the millennial word of that instant which is  also eternity - that is, that glimmering of life and death when they meet between the nothingness of the past and the night of that which is to come.

-To write is to set out, rejecting the language of the tribe, enrooting  oneself elsewhere.  Hence it is necessary for the writer to consent to become a stranger, to forget what he knows, or thinks he knows, to run the risk of losing his friends, to not be afraid to lose his audience just when he begins to have one.