Jun 12, 2022
“Poetry is a form of intelligence. The poet·ess prepares the conditions for intelligence. They purify their heart. They try things. They drop a stinking dead hare in a circle of chalk, they think, they write their secret with a yellow marker, on a board stained with the sperm of a young man and with the blood of a young mouse and they burn it, bite ripe peaches on the tree, head down, start laughing at a radiator, laughing alone, clap their hands, laugh out loud, they laugh, they laugh, the poet·ess debones themselves, they laugh with a great frank laugh.”
— Christophe Tarkos, Ma langue, 1996
