There Are Metaphors More Real Than The

I Want To Be A Work Of Art, At Least In My Soul, Since I Can’t Be One In My Body.

I Am The Suburb Of A Non-existent Town, The Prolix Commentary On A Book Never Written. I Am Nobody, Nobody. I Am A Character In A Novel Which Remains To Be Written, And I Float, Aerial, Scattered Without Ever Having Been, Among The Dreams Of A Creature Who Did Not Know How To Finish Me Off.

My Curiosity Sister Of Larks.

In The Very Corner Of My Soul There Is An Altar To A Different God.

I Am Nothing. I'll Never Be Anything. I Couldn't Want To Be Something. Apart From That, I Have In Me All The Dreams In The World.