I Went Out Under The

Love...no Such Thing. Whatever It Is That Binds Families And Married Couples Together, That's Not Love. That's Stupidity Or Selfishness Or Fear. Love Doesn't Exist. Self Interest Exists, Attachment Based On Personal Gain Exists, Complacency Exists. But Not Love. Love Has To Be Reinvented, That’s Certain.

I Have Stretched Ropes From Steeple To Steeple; Garlands From Window To Window; Golden Chains From Star To Star, And I Dance.

The Poet Makes Himself A Voyant Through A Long, Immense Reasoned Deranging Of All His Senses. All The Forms Of Love, Of Suffering, Of Madness; He Tries To Find Himself, He Exhausts In Himself All The Poisons, To Keep Only Their Quintessences.

Eternity Is The Sun Mixed With The Sea

It Began As Research. I Wrote Of Silences, Of Nights, I Scribbled The Indescribable. I Tied Down The Vertigo.