The Moon Is Fat And The Night

Of What Is Lost, Irretrievably Lost, All I Wish To Recover Is The Daily Availability Of My Writing, Lines Capable Of Grasping Me By The Hair And Lifting Me Up When I'm At The End Of My Strength. (significant, Said The Foreigner.) Odes To The Human And The Divine. Let My Writing Be Like The Verses Of By Leopardi That Daniel Biga Recited On A Nordic Bridge To Gird Himself With Courage.

I Kept Having Dreams All Night. I Thought They Were Touching Me With Their Fingers. But Dreams Don't Have Fingers, They Have Fists, So It Must Have Been Scorpions.

Every Hundred Feet The World Changes

The Sky, At Sunset, Looked Like A Carnivorous Flower.

Being Alone Makes Us Stronger. That’s The Honest Truth. But It’s Cold Comfort, Since Even If I Wanted Company No One Will Come Near Me Anymore.