All these roads are as the result of lashes
on the body of the Christ...

She is always dances amid her skirt.
Horizons always are very...

What a pernicious time this year was for me.
what a serrated dagger...

Drawn-out and broad
on the cobblestone...

Days are sliding away in disdain,
let fall...

For the sake of silence,
we have to distance ourselves...

The dance
was every improvisation between solid and ethereal...

The fruit to die for:
The apple of neighbour’s bough...

My eyes long to thrust this refulgent sight,
this adsorbent scene...

It was always drilling in his brain,
_the woodpecker of the clock...

Lets conspire with this pavement
against our distances...

Space is as the result of our disunion
the scatter of our holy communion...