I Will Always Be On The Side

I've Often Lost Myself, In Order To Find The Burn That Keeps Everything Awake

There Is Nothing More Poetic And Terrible Than The Skyscrapers' Battle With The Heavens That Cover Them.

Angel And Muse Approach From Without; The Angel Sheds Light And The Muse Gives Form (hesiod Learned Of Them). Gold Leaf Or Chiton-folds: The Poet Finds His Models In His Laurel Coppice. But The Duende, On The Other Hand, Must Come To Life In The Nethermost Recesses Of The Blood.

The Moon Carries The Masks Of Meningitis Into Bedrooms, Fills The Wombs Of Pregnant Women With Cold Water And, As Soon As I'm Not Careful, Throws Handfuls Of Grass On My Shoulders.

The Terrible Thing Is That The Crowd That Fills The Street Believes That The World Will Always Be The Same And That It Is Their Duty To Keep That Huge Machine Running, Day And Night, Forever. This Is What Comes Of A Protestant Morality, That I, As A (thank God) Typical Spaniard, Found Unnerving.