I don't know if it's hatred. I know it's a sickness.

They had kicked the door in. Evidently they had set the pulpit on fire and went out the front door.

I don't know what's going on. It's just sickness.

Once I got there, I noticed that smoke was everywhere, and we noticed that someone had tried to kick one of the side doors in to get in the church.

Journalism wishes to tell what it is that has happened everywhere as though the same things had happened for every man. Poetry wishes to say what it is like for any man to be himself in the presence of a particular occurrence as though only he were alone there.

A poem should not mean, But be