sublimation.

absorbed on a page

are your pains

those dark waters of

unconscious blisters

held by paper

your poems are not alien

they cannot be abstract

because they did not come from

a foreign planet

but from your very own deeds

your joys the tides

and sadness the ebbs

weave the diagram that you project

we readers are but recepticles

of your splendid and colorful dreams.

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