Language is the house of Being. In its home man dwells. Those who think and those who create with words are the guardians of this home.
–Martin Heidegger
Today I don’t want to write,
don’t want to crowd the cat-house of being
with any more sentences of ill repute.
I want to have that teeming heat
behind me, fretwork at rest
like a sagging porch with one rocking chair
& a view of the woods.
:-)
oh yes… sometimes the porch is more hospitable than the house.
(o)
I think I’ve been word weary for the past two years. There are other languages.