Maybe
The cloud struggled Against the sand Underneath the rain Of “no” and “yes”, Forcefully treading On the rationale That obeys The impasse of “maybe”.
One-word garments
Waves of circumflexes Storms of adverbs, Windmills of verbs, Shells of signs of ellipsis, On the island of poems Of soul, Of mind, Of thought, One-word garments You wear To endure!
Fictitious line
Smokes Of cigarettes And mugs Full of coffee, Next To the fictitious line Where the eddy Of words Leans against And nods, Wounded, To my silence.
To the dead poet of obscurity
(In honor of the dead unpublished poet) Well done! You have won! You should not feel sorry. Your unpublished poems -always remember- Have not been buried, Haven’t bent Under the strength of time. Like