There's man all over for you, 

blaming on his boots 

the fault of his feet.

To find a form that accommodates the mess, 

that is the task of the artist now.

I can't go on. 

I'll go on.

You're on earth. 

There's no cure for that.

Habit is a great deadener.

Ever tried. 

Ever failed. 

No matter. 

Try Again. 

Fail again. 

Fail better.

In the landscape of extinction, 

precision is next to godliness.

The tears of the world are a constant quality. 

For each one who begins to weep, 

somewhere else another stops. 

The same is true of the laugh.

Poets are the sense, 

philosophers the intelligence 

of humanity.

Words are all we have.

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.