Sometimes it’s best to disagree and rue the poison
that’s so divine; not all vanity is vanity. Otherwise,
the poet and poem and words and feelings are all
so vain in being figurative; they cannot help in any
of the ways we hope to heal the flesh.

Great vanity of arrogance, perhaps, but not vanity
in a sense of completeness—the sculptors of
epitaphs and romance are words. All words are
words and all poems are ego but not all writing
feeds rage, only art touches us.