“To Timiotaton: What Matters Most”

I like to pretend that I know something, but whatever I think I know, I guarantee I do not know, yet this is not some sad old professor preaching.

Prayer is private.

How did my heart look when it was young? What shade of red was the blood of my youth?

I gave it all away, and not even a picture remains.

I will be in Amor when the worms are eating my flesh.

A kookoo bird sings a sol song in the jungle.