Is It In These Bottomless Nights That

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

Hay Que Ser Absolutamente Moderno

A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn

Idle Youth, Enslaved To Everything; By Being Too Sensitive I Have Wasted My Life.

You Will Always Be A Hyena.