That window which connects youth the agony of other people;that’s your soul. Close that window and you are soulless. And a soulless man is vestigial. He hears but cannot listen. He sees but cannot notice. And everyone knows:when eyes and ears become jobless, We look for excuses. We hear angels and devils speak. We confabulate. We make up godsend lick their feet.—Superstitions

Poems That Lose