“ …And my heart openedlike a flower under sky,its petals of desire,its stamens of dreams… ”
But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.
~ Federico García Lorca
My head is full of fireand grief and my tongueruns wild, piercedwith shards of glass.
The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death, with all its foreboding, the voice of love and the voice of art.
Look at the longing, the anguish of a sad fossil world / that cannot find the accent of its first sob.
