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foolish confessions, 2025

Come, let us park together at the gate,

beneath the incredibly thoughtful foliage of the trees.

Bring me printed ties with matching shirts,

the choreography with the somersaults,

and a green biscuit

which sleeps comfortably on the branches of a pine tree.

With great difficulty, the level of the frogs rose fatally.

In case the ratio of timeless water didn’t dry up

with the vacant sunbed,

we would sleep bloody for centuries.

Undoubtedly, they stemmed from the presbyopia of nutrition

of brain cells.

I love exclusively entering the trouble of presenting you

these foolish confessions.

I beg you, don’t wake me up,

for I have no time,

only to greet you

with the hand that holds adorable impossibilities.

And if I die, it’s not certain I will wake among the dead.

Is there still room to solve the fundamental problems of life?

I give you my place in normality,

I prefer to be among the priceless

black and white spiders of Blake,

in the Great Mystery.

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