Even If A Poet Writes

And I Said To Myself: That's True, Hope Needs To Be Like Barbed Wire To Keep Out Despair, Hope Must Be A Mine Field.

The Soul Inside Me Is The Last Foreign Language I'm Learning.

Tonight I Think Again Of Many Days That Are Sacrificed For One Night Of Love. Of The Waste And The Fruit Of The Waste, Of Plenty And Of Fire. And How Painlessly-time.

A Flock Of Sheep Near The Airport Or A High Voltage Generator Beside The Orchard: These Combinations Open Up My Life Like A Wound, But They Also Heal It. That's Why My Feelings Always Come In Twos.

Tonight I Think Again Of Many Days That Are Sacrificed For One Night Of Love. Of The Waste And The Fruit Of The Waste, Of Plenty And Of Fire. And How Painlessly-time.