What do you think will happen next?

Well, nothing. A couple of
friends will order you a couple,
you will read one or two to your lover
who will tolerate as best as possible
your crazy syntax and only with the promise
of the subsequent lascivious kiss.
Some bargain table,
a collector of rare objects will send you
money through visa and disappear from the
continent. If someone were to ask for the
practical definition of what it is to be
a hopeful: ah, it is without a doubt the poet
who publishes his book. Come on, let's be fair,
no one in the vast world has asked you.
And instead of taking a productive course
you spend your time making verses as if
they were umbrellas. Who are you saving from the
downpour? Yourself. No one else.
But please
don't stop saving yourself. Make an umbrella for me
too.
It has never rained enough.