In the middle of the night, I screamed her name.
In the middle of the nightmare...

I was all the desolations one could ever have,
all the distance of loneliness...

If you hurt me, I flee away
behind the volcanos of despair...

Why
when we grow fangs...

It was in the black and white of his magic
that all my childhood turned into colours...

Orson Welles,
a man...

In our love,
the universe continues...

When was
and where...

In that café, I penned my poems
pinned a living butterfly of my heart...

The respite is shortening
like my hair in the barber shop...

In the desert of Christian land,
where Christ would never touch the sand...

Somewhere in distance
boundaries of space...