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i believe in things that don't exist poetry is just a exchange for reality that I don't have
or.... to which i don't want to surrender that I don't admit for mine
In autumn, best ballads are being written, the blowing of the wind, the carresing of the leaves, the wind kisses them goodnight telling them bedtime stories about spring
The leaves will be dead by spring, and the wind gives death a magical shape
it makes it easy to stop breathing, the last beat of the heart
The wind is the most noble poet, it is always here to blow to my face when I start fantasizing about the summer




I don't want anybody to catch me writing
it is like shooting a porno movie
while you making love to the paper and the pen