The Important Thing In Life Is To

With Their Souls Of Patent Leather, They Come Down The Road. Hunched And Nocturnal, Where They Breathe They Impose, Silence Of Dark Rubber, And Fear Of Fine Sand.

I Have Often Lost Myself In The Sea, Ears Full Of Newly Cut Flowers, Tongue Full Of Love And Agony.

My God, I Have Come With The Seeds Of Questions. I Planted Them, And They Never Flowered.

Death Laid Its Eggs In The Wound

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.