The Flesh Is Sad, Alas,

A Soul Trembling To Sit By A Hearth So Bright, To Exist Again, It’s Enough If I Borrow From Your Lips The Breath Of My Name You Murmur All Night.

You Don't Make A Poem With Ideas, But With Words.

Dreams Have As Much Influences As Actions.

It Is The Job Of Poetry To Clean Up Our Word-clogged Reality By Creating Silences Around Things.

To Define Is To Kill. To Suggest Is To Create.