A Poet of Forty Seven Poems
Which one can muster?
now?
lines
red, blue, black ... in colours
oblivions?
always same
metamorphosis
like a shepherd of one sheep
who has colours
to brush it to consternation
if out of one thousand
brushes
a light to be absorbed
may be only forty six and seven
or indigo
poets are scarce today
because nothing succour
is honey here
safe perhaps, locomotions
twisted how?.
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