Irony Is The Glory Of Slaves.

And If There Is No Lining To The World? If A Thrush On A Branch Is Not A Sign, But Just A Thrush On The Branch? If Night And Day Make No Sense Following Each Other?

Do Not Feel Safe. The Poet Remembers. You Can Kill One, But Another Is Born. The Words Are Written Down, The Deed, The Date.

Do You Know How It Is When One Wakes At Night Suddenly And Asks, Listening To The Pounding Heart: What More Do You Want, Insatiable?

All Was Taken Away From You: White Dresses, Wings, Even Existence.

Consciousness Even In My Sleep Changes Primary Colors. The Features Of My Face Melt Like A Wax Doll In The Fire. And Who Can Consent To See In The Mirror The Mere Face Of Man?