poetry appeared as if someone died under your bed. A suspected something. From someone who is digging tunnels to get to the other street, because he wants to escape, just want to find a place to stop for a moment, traffic police, no questions without filling out forms or renew passports. Or what would ex escorts swapping state secrets. Or the courage you have when you suffer a layoff and want to create a popular movement, claiming to Che, the Marxist and in the end everything goes as slides ...
Poetry as space exploration is extremely intolerant as the stewardess that of ordinary super Iwazaki with cheap cologne ... but in reverse: not tolerate intolerance ... (See, these are the games of words and you can publish your books and set up interviews on the state of literature and what it cost you write your four novels and two books of poetry. Nobody tells you anything, I just applaud you. Think writing on the desk of García Márquez. You see, not look at you ...)
Poetry as space exploration is extremely intolerant as the stewardess that of ordinary super Iwazaki with cheap cologne ... but in reverse: not tolerate intolerance ... (See, these are the games of words and you can publish your books and set up interviews on the state of literature and what it cost you write your four novels and two books of poetry. Nobody tells you anything, I just applaud you. Think writing on the desk of García Márquez. You see, not look at you ...)
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