do not believe it,
a good poem is almost a miracle
one puts his arms
the hands and finally the fingers
and he starts to hit the words
and after a few verses he realizes
that the poem is worth nothing
but he follows him out of habit or out of pity
because maybe the next verse will save him
and it turns out not
that everything follows the same journey,
you have to be very crazy or very brave
to dare to slam the door on the poem.
exactly like that i imagine
is the overwhelming pack of things
at which we bark daily
thinking, imagining
what the next dog
will save life