Do I write poetry to grant even the most infinitesimal droplet of sweat of my flailing form;
the status of a King;
a King who crafts his own kingdom of desire with the insatiable intensity of his existence?
«Ποταμοῖς τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἐμβαίνομέν τε καὶ οὐκ ἐμβαίνομεν, εἶμέν τε καὶ οὐκ εἶμεν.»
«We both step and do not step in the same rivers. We are and are not.»
Heraclitus the Riddler