Making sense is a rare. At least to me , very few things makes sense. No, not this life or the universe or the sun shining endlessly. Eliot does. Thats all I am going to say, read him, you ll get me. If it doesn't we are different - thats obvious.
Love doesn't make sense, religion too. Music does, poetry too.
Speaking about poetry ... Christy and I were sharing some self-written poems in the canteen today and he told me about Haiku. Its awesome..But hey! haikus dont make sense... it does to the writer. the readers can percieve it their own way. If interested ..check, www.haikooties.com
I have got one for you ..its by Christy ,
Purple snowflakes on my radio,
the music dissapears,
I'm left cold and unclean.