But Hurry, Let's Entwine Ourselves As One,

Damned, Damned Be The Rich! May Not Even Their Fingernails Be Left!... I'm Sure That They Are Going To Hell Head-first.

Death, Lonely Death, Beneath The Withered Leaves.

I Sing Your Restless Longing For The Statue, Your Fear Of The Feelings That Await You In The Street. I Sing The Small Sea Siren Who Sings To You, Riding Her Bicycle Of Corals And Conches. But Above All I Sing A Common Thought That Joins Us In The Dark And Golden Hours. The Light That Blinds Our Eyes Is Not Art. Rather It Is Love, Friendship, Crossed Swords.

What Shall I Say About Poetry? What Shall I Say About Those Clouds, Or About The Sky? Look; Look At Them; Look At It! And Nothing More. Don't You Understand Anything About Poetry? Leave That To The Critics And The Professors. For Neither You, Nor I, Nor Any Poet Knows What Poetry Is.

...i Am The Immense Shadow Of My Tears