There's nothing wrong with being a large mammal.

Give form to the passing World. Freeways are a drama.

The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game.

No one gets out of here alive.

How can I set free anyone who doesn't have the guts to stand up alone and declare his own freedom?

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

Hatred is a very underestimated emotion.