The Night Is Shattered, And The Blue

Over Your Breasts Of Motionless Current, Over Your Legs Of Firmness And Water, Over The Permanence And The Pride Of Your Naked Hair I Want To Be, My Love, Now That The Tears Are Thrown Into The Raucous Baskets Where They Accumulate, I Want To Be, My Love, Alone With A Syllable Of Mangled Silver, Alone With A Tip Of Your Breast Of Snow.

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

You Are Like Nobody Since I Love You.

There Is No Insurmountable Solitude.

Poetry Is An Act Of Peace.