the poetic lord
sits in the brain
and waits to be
called upon to
to spread magic
with his words
to size up events
and interprete them
to his fancies without
having to kowtow
to society norms
and make beliefs,
indoctrinations
cups of poisons
that stymie and
hinder the flow
of poetic juices
meant to oil the
adagio to that
sublime and ecstatic
climax for ballerina of words
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem