I Buried the Poet

disappeared with the moment, Regrets, Echoes, Confusion, Lust, all sandwiched on white leaves with blue veins coated with brownish crust. i have my name on it, lost, i cannot stand, dizzy, hoping it escapes a cognoscenti hand. The rythms, The rhymes, The stanzas, The lines I cannot save money to buy, 'cos they came like from the sky. sighs and tears soaked by the time. I'm a forfeit mind... but I wrote those lines... blue, black, green and red, on white pages spread. Awakening, I buried the 'i' now awaiting the fumes of the sediment to bring I back to life.