i sale adrift.
the seas are of no avail,
not one verse against the horizon.
i used to hang mutinied words
on the black mast
of my galleon.
dried up by an atlantic sun,
they would carry me towards the leviathan of poetry.
lagoons with coffee breasts
used to welcome
verses
in all languages of the world.
ho ho ho and a bottle of rum.

not one verse against the horizon.