The mouth lies as easily as it breathes, while the heart leaps when there is something worth leaping over and stops when it is finished. The art of writing is to find a fire worth leaping over and stopping when your heart is finished.
Writing fiction helped my poetry because writing is good for writing.
They who shelter the heads of writers do the work of angels.
Poetry is all blood and pauses. I look forward to closing the door on fiction for a time, and dedicating myself to poetry. In fiction, you have to withhold some of your blood or the work would be unreadable. In fiction, you need to know how to use that fine brush, perhaps the finest brush. That Japanese brush that costs thirty dollars and has only five camel hairs. You need to establish commonality. But poetry comes out like arterial spray and needs to hit like an arrow shot through your spine as to cripple you. At least that is the way I like my poetry.
I have forgotten what it feels like to not know what that great passionate thing that you want to do with your living is. Writing works itself out of me in a compassion building journey of falling in despair, and rising to such great emotional heights as to erase all memory of what life was like before knowing what it is to know.