If Nothing Saves Us From Death, At

Joyful, Joyful, Joyful, As Only Dogs Know How To Be Happy With Only The Autonomy Of Their Shameless Spirit.

On Our Earth, Before Writing Was Invented, Before The Printing Press Was Invented, Poetry Flourished. That Is Why We Know That Poetry Is Like Bread; It Should Be Shared By All, By Scholars And By Peasants, By All Our Vast, Incredible, Extraordinary Family Of Humanity.

There Is No Insurmountable Solitude.

Under Your Skin The Moon Is Alive.

Give Me Your Hand Out Of The Depths Sown By Your Sorrows.