Green How I Want You Green. Green

My Poetry Is A Game. My Life Is A Game. But I Am Not A Game.

At First Glance, The Rhythm May Be Confused With Gaiety, But When You Look More Closely At The Mechanism Of Social Life And The Painful Slavery Of Both Men And Machines, You See That It Is Nothing But A Kind Of Typical, Empty Anguish That Makes Even Crime And Gangs Forgivable Means Of Escape.

Life Is Laughter Amid A Rosary Of Death.

If I Told You The Whole Story It Would Never End...what's Happened To Me Has Happened To A Thousand Woman.

In The Garden I Will Die. In The Rosebush They Will Kill Me.