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My whole body puts me on my guard against each word
The oracles are silent
What shall we have to drink in these deserts?
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound
It's a quick death, God help us all
The marquise went out at five
A universe for the first time bereft of all signposts
The mutilated body was thrown back into the sea
Fenande has left with a futurist
A clown, perhaps, but an aspiring clown
I would prefer not to
The imitation of an action
It takes talent to lead art that far astray
Stories of modernism.

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