When the axe first entered the forest all the trees could say was: "At least the handle is one of us".
---Turkish proverb

Today, they are making bread out of breadcrumbs.
---Karl Kraus.

Read some Ceravolo in the dying sun. My eyes hurt but my body feels at ease in the warm sunshine. Small leaves fly into the sun...

As evening descends you sit outside on the green bench, under a starless sky, the moon directly above your head like a cup pouring down its light. At dusk: a few immobilized students under the trees, like hieroglyphs; the birds flying back together when so many below them are alone. The light grows dimmer by the minute and I struggle to pick out the words, the last dark words on the paper, sinking back...

God created his image.
I love him like the door.
Speak to me now.
Without god there is no god.

--Joseph Ceravolo. 

Where are you from? Who were you?