The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.
I spill my bright incalculable soul
hate blows a bubble of despair into hugeness world system universe and bang -fear buries a tomorrow under woe and up comes yesterday most green and young
You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
O sweet spontaneous earth
-Before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were.