A lithos I strike on a stone

to spark a spark

to light a fire and add

an inch on the leg

of the limping man who

after he admires

the ridiculous turn of this earth

and after he immortalizes it

on the canvas of his retinas

this fire will become a conflagration

to burn the unequal world

when from the bottom of the lake

I pull mud and place it

in the limping man’s palms

he alone, who in deficiency exists,

will mould the perfect universe

from the beginning people concerns

and beasts he’ll create

women with hair loosened

in the afternoon breeze he’ll form

unforgettable sunsets he’ll paint

him, the limping man will grace

all eyes with benevolence when

I’ll give him summer wine

I’ll enthrone him on the clouds

pure and mature and loosened

and after inebriation settles in

revengeful and spiteful

to justify the cry

Good Lord, have mercy on us

don’t drink again