May Night Continue To Fall Upon The

We All Love Conflagrations. When The Sky Changes Color, It Is A Dead Man's Passing.

There Is Nothing With Which It Is So Dangerous To Take Liberties As Liberty Itself.

I Insist On Knowing The Names, On Being Interested Only In Books Left Ajar, Like Doors; I Will Not Go Looking For Keys.

Past And Future Monopolize The Poet’s Sensory And Intellectual Faculties, Detached From The Immediate Spectacle. These Two Philtres Become Utterly Clear The Moment One Stops Being Hypnotized By The Cloudy Precipitate Constituted By The World Of Today.

Trust In The Inexhaustible Character Of The Murmur.