A City Becomes A World When One

The Heaviest Impact Of The Work Of Art Is In The Guts. Art Does Not Reason. It Manhandles You And Changes You.

No History Much? Perhaps. Only This Ominous Dark Beauty Flowering Under Veils, Trapped In The Spectrum Of A Dying Style: A Village Like An Instinct Left To Rust, Composed Around The Echo Of A Pistol-shot.

Poetry Is What Happens When An Anxiety Meets A Technique.

Everything Really Desirable Has Come About Because Of, Or In Spite Of, Wine!

It Is Not Peace We Seek But Meaning.