I Am The Soul In Limbo.

Past And Future Monopolize The Poet’s Sensory And Intellectual Faculties, Detached From The Immediate Spectacle. These Two Philtres Become Utterly Clear The Moment One Stops Being Hypnotized By The Cloudy Precipitate Constituted By The World Of Today.

My Wish Is That You May Be Loved To The Point Of Madness.

May Night Continue To Fall Upon The Orchestra

Who Am I? If This Once I Were To Rely On A Proverb, Then Perhaps Everything Would Amount To Knowing Whom I 'haunt.'

The Art Of Frida Kahlo Is A Ribbon Around A Bomb.