with one word

Leaning in a corner of the room, I saw the word “reconciliation” painted in neat letters on a board. I start to worry about my brain when I experience a single word as a self-contained poem.

requisite madness

But if any man come to the gates of poetry without madness of the Muses, persuaded that skill alone will make him a good poet, then shall he and his works of sanity with him be brought to naught by the poetry of madness, and behold their place is nowhere to be found.

—Socrates (Plato), Phaedrus edited by R. Hackworth, Cambridge, 1952