Like Gunnar Ekelof I sometimes crush the alphabet between my teeth. Whenever I do this I hear organ music from far away, from some church that stands behind a confluence of hills. And whenever I do this its night. And the moon passes her hands softly over my eyes. Meanwhile I chew on words rather than writing them down. This is my life: angry, gentle, ears open, and the words with too much cartilage…
Planet of the Blind 