From The Place Where We Are Right,

The Reason A Poet Is A Poet Is To Write Poems, Not To Advertise Himself As A Poet.

Behind All This, Some Great Happiness Is Hiding.

I Wanted To Be Calm, Like A Mound With All Its Cities Destroyed, And Tranquil, Like A Full Cemetery.

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.

What Are You Going To Do Now? You'll Collect Loves Like Stamps. You've Got Doubles And No One Will Trade With You. And You've Got Damaged Ones.