Tonight I Think Again Of Many Days

The Reason A Poet Is A Poet Is To Write Poems, Not To Advertise Himself As A Poet.

I Think The End Is Endless. It's Either A Big Black Hole Or A Big White Light Or Both Together. But It's Totally Meaningless, Because Even If Someone Would Explain It, I Wouldn't Understand It.

The Memory Of My Father Is Wrapped Up In White Paper, Like Sandwiches Taken For A Day Of Work. Just As A Magician Takes Towers And Rabbits Out Of His Hat, He Drew Love From His Small Body.

What Are You Going To Do Now? You'll Collect Loves Like Stamps. You've Got Doubles And No One Will Trade With You. And You've Got Damaged Ones.

What Are You Going To Do Now? You'll Collect Loves Like Stamps. You've Got Doubles And No One Will Trade With You. And You've Got Damaged Ones.