I'm An Educated Man, The

Bright Colours In The West, Giant Butterflies Dancing As Night Crept Like A Cripple Toward The East.

If I Were To Say What I Really Think I Would Be Arrested Or Shut Away In A Lunatic Asylum. Come On, I Am Sure That It Would Be The Same For Everyone.

The World Is Alive And No Living Thing Has Any Remedy. That Is Our Fortune.

Of What Is Lost, Irretrievably Lost, All I Wish To Recover Is The Daily Availability Of My Writing, Lines Capable Of Grasping Me By The Hair And Lifting Me Up When I'm At The End Of My Strength. (significant, Said The Foreigner.) Odes To The Human And The Divine. Let My Writing Be Like The Verses Of By Leopardi That Daniel Biga Recited On A Nordic Bridge To Gird Himself With Courage.

They Could Read Him, They Could Study Him, They Could Pick Him Apart, But They Couldn't Laugh Or Be Sad With Him.