The Little Red House

If you can clearly explain what a poet is, please feel free to enlighten me. I contend 
that no one knows what such a strange beast really is. I know what it means to write 
something that looks like a poem. I am, however, incapable of referring to myself as 
a poet in the same manner, as I do not claim to know any truth. I can only claim to 
be looking for truth. The contents of this book are attempts at reaching some sort of 
more intense form of a language that is not even mine. I imagine that most people 
who read these pages will wonder what I am talking about. Unfortunately, or perhaps 
fortunately, I cannot help anyone in their quest for meaning. No key, no code, no cypher, 
no method will help anyone ascertain meaning. But if one sentence gives you pause, if 
you find one word even remotely intriguing for what it sounds like or says, maybe, then 
my task here is done. I can go no further.