My Poems Are Political In

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.

From The Place Where We Are Right, Flowers Will Not Grow In The Spring.

From The Place Where We Are Right, Flowers Will Not Grow In The Spring.

Knowledge Of Peace Passes From Country To Country, Like Children's Games, Which Are So Much Alike, Everywhere.

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