In the contradictions of one’s madness, there are no apologies. Your words are razor edged and like lost echoes about my skin and heart. Funny how you would always say that I was so brave to be so real and sentimental in this iceberg, intellectual time.

Well then, let me climb in the lap of Dalton with You, You, and You. Let’s escape any social distance, lock arms if only in a dream. Let’s spin some words like Maslow’s Hierarchy. To Everything, first bread, then landscape, then peace. —MO

_______________________________

“...and my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.
I believe the world is beautiful,
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.
And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life, love,
little things, landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.”
_______________________— Roque Dalton