it is all art
there is not much intelligence
all decors
nothing functional like a picture
of a garden of roses
there is no scent
just words imagining the world
of their existence somewhere
it is all style
there is no bread and butter and
coffee
tea is prohibited and
smoking sometimes is allowed
as coping up
mechanism so with a little drink
that takes another drink
beer, rum,
vodka and the tequila against
the rising sun
in the desert
obra maestra he will justify it
no lasting
but keeps on saying
something too trivial
sometimes is too precious
that it is not
for sale
only for reading.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem