I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled poets to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean.
Childhood. Learning of love, words, inspiration...
Learning where is inspiration NOT. Nowhere. Double negation. In loves you love, in books you read, in dreams you forget, in otherís crushes, in womenís pregnancies, in fantasies, in cars burning the highway, in news shaming the radio, in stones you kick along the way... An unending flood of knowledge overwhelming, teaching, your unending childhood. And mine.