Orpheus

The poet delivers letters in the still coolness of dawn. His journey takes him headfirst through the spectrum of all human society before lunch and takes him by the hand into a universal cosmic consciousness after dinner. It is here that with vial and pipette-pen he distils collective thought into assemblies of vowels and consonants, secreted conceptual mist that condensates into rivers of myriad image and emotion, lakes of teaching and waterfalls of delight. The poet bathes lugubriously in the waters that separate the world of living from the world of the dead. Bathing and collecting, immersing and exploring, the poet becomes the word. The poet embodies the word, he knows what it is capable of. He takes his after-dinner word hoard and sets it down on paper, in ink, in books; he takes inventory and then goes to work. The poet deals in letters, combined and asunder, these letters he then delivers, without a singular recipient. There is no exclusivity in his address.

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