i never stop dreaming
the impossible
in fact, it is the impossible
that makes me
alive, the possible only
reduces me to a dot, a
sentence so dull because
everything is clear we
must look for what is missing,
for they are not here yet not
sleep and grapple with
what are so boringly obvious,
dreams on waking hours,
well thought of, in full details,
what if, so well, try again,
failures are projectiles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem