One wound is enough to feed the open wounds of the sky.
Through the ear, we shall enter the invisibility of things.
In the morning, you tear up the pages of your fever, but every word naturally leads you back to its color, its night.
How could an argument soothe or settle a controversy when every word is a nest for a bird of doubt? (meaning of words as inferences)
We do not truly speak except at a distance. There is no word not severed.
By the light of our insistent truths we wander into death