no choice is left

No choice is left to a poet
he has to take balance or loose
walks preliminary postponed
rides on a sublime…
See, he chews pepper and popcorns,
devores mintballs and words,
see him, he takes dust from the things
and danses and acts like the bees. 
He knows different grasses and
visits neighbours as woods;
somnambulistic walks he takes through nights
when they fall
(and surely they fall)
but their fall is hard to explain
is like an explosion
and not to explain
in darknesses heart. 

Go in the woods and learn
by  ivy, by skivy , by why?we
study schemes as the greeks
though disintegrated and vaste
study shadows and beams in the garbage
whereever they come from and
beam those digital scenes
in your brains.

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