When you go out and get the mail, you don't expect to feel your life has changed somehow. Or more accurately, who the hell is Patrizia Valduga, and why have I never heard of her before?
By now you know: I need the words.
You'll learn to give me what I seek.
It's my sick mind, it feeds on words.
I'm begging you, for God's sake: speak!
From this month's Poetry. Page 232. Don't waste time, just turn to that page, and read the selections From "One Hundred Quatrains". Damn. Part of this issue, Italian poets selected, translated by assorted people. Off to google. Crack. Both literally smoking, and smacked to the head.