Poetry Is A Dividend From What You

The Partition Separating Life From Death Is So Tenuous. The Unbelievable Fragility Of Our Organism Suggests A Vision On A Screen: A Kind Of Mist Condenses Itself Into A Human Shape, Lasts A Moment And Scatters.

From Life, From The Apple Cut By The Flaming Knife, What Grain Will Be Saved? My Son, Believe Me, Nothing Remains, Only Adult Toil, The Furrow Of Fate In The Palm. Only Toil, Nothing More.

Language Is The Only Homeland.

The Revolt Against One's Environment Is Usually 'shame' Of One's Environment.

Be Young Forever, Seasons Of The Earth.