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.
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