Poet: Gardener Of Epitaphs.

Because Two Bodies, Naked And Entwined, Leap Over Time, They Are Invulnerable, Nothing Can Touch Them, They Return To The Source. There Is No You, No I, No Tomorrow, No Yesterday, No Names, The Truth Of Two In A Single Body, A Single Soul, Oh Total Being.

Grace Is Gratuitous; It Is A Gift.

No One Behind, No One Ahead. The Path The Ancients Cleared Has Closed. And The Other Path, Everyone's Path, Easy And Wide, Goes Nowhere. I Am Alone And Find My Way.

We Pursue Modernity In Her Incessant Metamorphoses Yet We Never Manage To Trap Her. She Always Escapes: Each Encounter Ends In Flight. We Embrace Her And She Disappears Immediately: It Was Just A Little Air. It Is The Instant, That Bird That Is Everywhere And Nowhere. We Want To Trap It Alive But It Flaps Its Wings And Vanishes In The Form Of A Handful Of Syllables. We Are Left Empty-handed. Then The Doors Of Perception Open Slightly And The Other Time Appears, The Real One We Were Searching For Without Knowing It: The Present, The Presence.

The North American System Only Wants To Consider The Positive Aspects Of Reality. Men And Women Are Subjected From Childhood To An Inexorable Process Of Adaptation Certain Principles, Contained In Brief Formulas Are Endlessly Repeated By The Press, The Radio, The Churches, And The Schools, And By Those Kindly, Sinister Beings, The North American Mothers And Wives. A Person Imprisoned By These Schemes Is Like A Plant In A Flowerpot Too Small For It He Cannot Grow Or Mature.