In the shambles of love, they kill only the best,
none of the weak or deformed.
Don’t run away from this dying.
Whoever’s not killed for love is carrion.



Being is not what it seems,
nor non-being. The world’s
existence is not
in the world.



When your love reaches the core,
earth-heavals and bright irruptions spew in the air.

The universe becomes one spiritual thing, that simple,
love mixing with spirit.



Who ever saw such drunkards?
Barrels broken open, the ground and starry
ceiling soaked. And look,
this full glass in my hand.