Ulysses is bleeding
Ulysses is bleeding
The fingers of the day break are not rose, but filled with smoke. Tennyson had warned me as a feminist chaman and a portuguese about the pain to hold on. Scila and Caribdis wandering like Muses, the strategy of deepness, my pretext to need you as a worm in the howling night of roses.
Mario Benedetti
High Fidelity
Intertextuality as aid for amorous liasons