Poems

I will become the traveller again (First Line)

I will become the traveller again
Will tie the shoe laces
Will let the nails grow wandering
And my chin will become a massive bush of hair
Like the massiveness of these mornings
Which is placed between me and a beautiful death.

I will approach my beautiful death;
Like a homesick pilgrim
I will promenade among the faces
Like a bird setting on the first tree of the world
When the last star
Falls down into a basket of apples
There, early one morning.

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