another since another is not possible

 

I don't want the poem

give me what he can't

The chair is still the same

The white wall of this house

If I want I can paint it green

But the poem

of the poem, actually

I only want one thing:

let him get me out of here.

For brief seconds

going down like it's rolling

down uninterruptedly

each verse

The poem

in your specific measure

will have to save me again,

amazing machine, isn't he?

~

~

And I won't say what it's about

I'm not going to discuss the paths for writing it

I will not lecture about being an author

(It's been hard to be something even before this)

What I want is for the universe to shine

the revelation that when inventing a poem

[and the universe that's him]

I am not me anymore

I'm no longer in myself, that is,

Attention

[and that's what matters]

Now

right now

I'm no longer cramped in that corner inside of me

where my pain had strength and as a wall had a name in it

heartache

And from then on it would be

just something more or less like this:

finish this poem

and for the pain to return

quickly