To write is just emulation
to be more nice just say variation
of what we don't really know with certainty.
In life we visit a library
or a café where the drinks all mix liquor
a place full of subjects and knowledge
of men who dance on their head
preparing their disparate passages
and hope for best in their readers
and maybe just in themselves.
The rapport, the image,creation
began just endless procession
when the blind singer with thick hair
passed his words to those the younger
who enraptured and still bolder
decided our fate in echoes
and still more regained their animas.
For those who point in secret language
and engage in search of neutrinos
of the soul and of the morning
they think to say and speak with kindness.
And we can just follow the cycle
of our life and the procession.
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