it doesn't mean anything the moment you try to put the first word down it loses its meaning to a box you belong the word is wordless even when you sing, look at those wordless travellers crossing over same corner same time each day the web they are weaving with steps called world, a divided word if you'veΒ Β noticed
meaningless game of words you work on poems jump out of it and gone coincidence sounds a wise one throws queries in a bin which contains stuff called food and fruits a while ago when they were still trying to grow as they were under the sun
poets look like relatives of poems but thieves of the wordless pieces those critics stuffed their mouths with poetic swears are their truly enemyful friends with whom they split bills of love and hack fairly