You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”

My blood is a miracle that, from my veins, crosses the air in my heart into yours.

My painting carries with it the message of pain.

I don’t like the gringos at all. They are very boring and all have faces like unbaked rolls.

Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?

I paint my own reality.

I hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return.