I didn't
therefore your poem
is better than my poem
and yet since my poem
doesn't exist
who is to say
it will not be better
in some impossible future
where I am a great poet
but no one
will write encomiums
to unplanted flowers
or unconceived realities
ripeness is all
the fruit begets itself
the seed that stays a seed
is no seed at all
what unseen caravans trample the air
beneath my eyes
the same that rattle my undreamt brains
in the early morning hours
where nobody cares
about merit
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