In The Desert You Celebrate

A Postcard. Neat Handwriting Fills The Rectangle. Half My Days I Cannot Bear To Touch You. The Rest Of My Time I Feel Like It Doesn’t Matter If I Will Ever See You Again. It Isn’t The Morality, It’s How Much You Can Bear. No Date. No Name Attached.

Love Is So Small It Can Tear Itself Through The Eye Of A Needle

The Trouble With All Of Us Is We Are Where We Shouldn't Be.

Men Had Always Been The Reciters Of Poetry In The Desert.

There's Always Been Anger In The Making Of Music Or Literature Or Dance.