When Poetry Happens
Words rain down on me,
drops of silence
evicted...
thus I poetize
in impulses,
in unstoppable stupor
that just happens...
My poetry is like this...
stale words
in the twilight..
They arrive as flowers,
as clouds... as llight
through closed window...
Poetry comes to the poet,
as celestial bodies
coming from other spheres...
Seems like a distant dream,
stars that finally
inns... !
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