I don't want to read what is going to slide down easily; there has to be some crunch, a certain amount of resilience.

until only infinity remained of beauty

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night.

I lost my ridiculous accent without acquiring another

In the increasingly convincing darkness The words become palpable, like a fruit That is too beautiful to eat.

I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places.

I feel that poetry is going on all the time inside, an underground stream.