ESCAPE FROM…
Escape from yourself, that’s what poetry is. In the meantime you search for yourself – that’s poetry, too. The garbage in the streets, the neon lights, the pavements – it’s all poetry. Then reality breaks apart like a fire-cracker. You don’t like the sparklers for they sparkle joy that lasts only too briefly. You don’t like the candles either, neither on birthday cakes nor on graves. The overwrought poems are like whores with too much makeup, or raped Christmas trees. That’s why the poets (and the no-poets) get horny on simple things. One should hide from humanity to find the human being in himself, and then escape from it as far as possible.