Intact

Days In The Blackberries Field

Clumsy 
beginnings 

without a plan 
nor purpose 

without order 
or form 

scrawled 
on a paper

crumpled
in my subconscious 

written in my language 
that none understand anyway

repressed
deep within

’cause
I wouldn’t like to feel 

a look from those eyes 
who may find them 

and read 
without understanding 

asking me 
to explain 

“What was the poet trying to say?”

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