The Poem Is In My Hands, And

I Love Women Whose Hidden Desires Make Horses Put An End To Their Lives At The Threshold

If You Live, Live Free Or Die Like The Trees, Standing Up.

To Be Under Occupation, To Be Under Siege, Is Not A Good Inspiration For Poetry.

I See Poetry As Spiritual Medicine.

Far Away, Our Dreams Have Nothing To Do With What We Do. The Wind Carries The Night, And Passes On, Aimless.