Just As The Light And Weightless Vegetation

Little Black Horse. Where Are You Taking Your Dead Rider?

The Duende....where Is The Duende? Through The Empty Archway A Wind Of The Spirit Enters, Blowing Insistently Over The Heads Of The Dead, In Search Of New Landscapes And Unknown Accents: A Wind With The Odour Of A Child's Saliva, Crushed Grass, And Medusa's Veil, Announcing The Endless Baptism Of Freshly Created Things.

A Poet Must Be A Professor Of The Five Senses And Must Open Doors Among Them.

There Is Nothing More Poetic And Terrible Than The Skyscrapers' Battle With The Heavens That Cover Them.

What's The Furthest Corner? Because That's Where I Want To Be, Alone With The Only Thing That I Love.