A Man Screaming Is Not A Dancing

Communism Has Served Us Ill In Having Us Swap A Living Brotherhood For What Looks To Have The Features Of The Coldest Of All Chill Abstractions.

I Would Rediscover The Secret Of Great Communications And Great Combustions. I Would Say Storm. I Would Say River. I Would Say Tornado. I Would Say Leaf. I Would Say Tree. I Would Be Drenched By All Rains, Moistened By All Dews. I Would Roll Like Frenetic Blood On The Slow Current Of The Eye Of Words Turned Into Mad Horses Into Fresh Children Into Clots Into Curfew Into Vestiges Of Temples Into Precious Stones Remote Enough To Discourage Miners. Whoever Would Not Understand Me Would Not Understand Any Better The Roaring Of A Tiger.

Reason, I Sacrifice You To The Evening Breeze.

It Is No Use Painting The Foot Of The Tree White, The Strength Of The Bark Cries Out From Beneath The Paint.

Poetic Knowledge Is Born In The Great Silence Of Scientific Knowledge.