I Am The Slave Of My Baptism.

I Dreamed Of Crusades, Voyages Of Discovery That Nobody Had Heard Of, Republics Without Histories, Religious Wars Stamped Out, Revolutions In Morals, Movements Of Races And Continents; I Used To Believe In Every Kind Of Magic. I Began It As An Investigation. I Turned Silences And Nights Into Words. What Was Unutterable, I Wrote Down. I Made The Whirling World Stand Still.

The Wolf Howled Under The Leaves And Spit Out The Prettiest Feathers Of His Meal Of Fowl: Like Him I Consume Myself.

Love...no Such Thing. Whatever It Is That Binds Families And Married Couples Together, That's Not Love. That's Stupidity Or Selfishness Or Fear. Love Doesn't Exist. Self Interest Exists, Attachment Based On Personal Gain Exists, Complacency Exists. But Not Love. Love Has To Be Reinvented, That’s Certain.

The Poet Makes Himself A Seer Through A Long, Vast And Painstaking Derangement Of All The Senses

What A Life! True Life Is Elsewhere. We Are Not In The World.