| Book Reviews
The past is an unknown country / whose people speak a language unknown to me. / Lonely pilgrim of memories,...
Fed up with fuming faces around me, / Fed up with petty poets' peculiarity, / I was even fed up with you / When I sat there in Cafe Art / Talking about Derrida, Nora, Wilde, and Barthes...
Tomorrows / Ravenous memories of sorrows / Roam into dark windowpanes of your eyes, / Painted motionless in a flowerless panorama...
I'm losing you every day in / unavailing repetition of an image / I'm losing you/ every moment in blue/ And your sudden reappear in/ Orange concept of a fish...