Don't you know no one can escape the power of creatures reaching out with breath alone?

What is the main thing in love? to know and to hide. To know about the one you love and to hide that you love. At times the hiding (shame) overpowers the knowing (passion). The passion for the hidden - the passion for the revealed.

My desk, most loyal friend thank you. You've been with me on every road I've taken. My scar and my protection.

For the spell is older than experience. For the tale is older than the record.

What shall I do, singer and first-born, in a world where the deepest black is grey, and inspiration is kept in a thermos? with all this immensity in a measured world?

My verses are my diary. My poetry is a poetry of proper names.

What is this gypsy passion for separation, this readiness to rush off when we've just met? My head rests in my hands as I realize, looking into the night that no one turning over our letters has yet understood how completely and how deeply faithless we are, which is to say: how true we are to ourselves.