While you take off your shoes you think in poetry,
you know that once you write something akin to a great poem,
but you know that it of no use to collect raw materials
for when the occasion reaches. You can you stand and scream
your own ghost that is time to get your hands on.
You can eat your spoon with tears, Choose a memory,
jump as a wise man to discover the possibilities of the impossible.
But you've got nothing: the poem looks at you with eyes of Toad,
he flees like a rat among rubbish and papers, flowers
in the backyard, It is at the bottom of a pot and don't see it,
you see it and know it and touch it, is your night bread, But even
not to catch it, and if you manage to catch it by the neck maybe you break,
crashes on your nose; and it is true that you don't know to knead
the substance report different. You get to bark because then
Remember that so happened you with goats and sheep (each one was
pulling the rope towards their world) and then you ponder whether it would not be better
IR meeting notes on a given topic, go spinning around
a tobacco smoke, until the plants reach the grupas
of the mares that sudan and neighing at the edge of the poem.
It is useless. Useless. So you will not get to own your office: of your hands
Sometimes they jump, broken, the words. The verses melt in your teeth,
and suddenly you asombras a man to break down out loud his sarcophagus.
Everything is possible here. They were the torturers, the stones become
in breads or lightning. The storm surprised you
and now you feed it with closed fists. There will be no dead chicken,
bullet or cloth that you paralyze. It includes those roads, These guásimas:
they are the same that you have died, the same one you already live
and browse, but the wind came with their seeds in your House.
If you're going to sleep to remember water tumbler, Since then, is not
for the Saints but for the dreams of your thirst, prepare your papers,
Board your shoes. And don't forget to follow you overlooking the abyss,
do not tire of living driven towards the roots of things, bites
love in your fire, in its salt. Help your brothers to build the great House
in that do not bear the cruelty. One day you will write a great poem.