Risking the absurd and death in every verse,
The poet, like an acrobat, swings over the heads of
The crowd, in a world where writing is a tightrope act
And rhyme is the ladder to the lofty heavens of words.
He climbs on ropes of images, crocheting
In the fine thread woven from dreams and harmony,
Balances on beams of gazes,...
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