Misfortune Was My God.

I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The Unnameable.

The Northern Lights Rise Like A Kiss To The Sea

Is It In These Bottomless Nights That You Sleep In Exile?

And From That Time On I Bathed In The Poem Of The Sea, Star-infused And Churned Into Milk, Devouring The Green Azures; Where, Entranced In Pallid Flotsam, A Dreaming Drowned Man Sometimes Goes Down.

Your Memory And Your Senses Will Be Nourishment For Your Creativity.