Poems are to be written each morning
When you happily smile to yourself in the mirror
Simply because you are not dammed yet.
Afterwards, you jump rope like being possessed,
Play a little hopscotch in between floors,
Just long enough to stir your worn out words
Before laying them on a blur
Over an impossible chess table

Poems are always about what remains unwritten,
About the absolute pain to be found in between two metaphors,
About crucifixion upon any cross,
About the infinite behind the point where God twists geometry
Like He would twist an invitation to love.
How could I, beyond all these grandeurs,
Confess to a sickened heart
From which only you could harvest the beauty within
As if desert was born from an oasis,
As if such a cactus were able to recognize the flower it came from.

Poetry takes birth on a fly between two frozen nests
This is why birds of passage write it on the sky
Me being only the riddler of zodiacal signs,
You know, that strange guy able to count from 0 to 0
Downwards to minus infinite…