Seventh poet.

From behind the herbs I come with words.
From behind the papaya and avocado my verse rises.
 
Through the warm gloom of a polluted subtropical city.
Through the circuits of my mind to the paper...
To the screen of your computer.
 
I am the seventh poet.
Come to breath on you with this rhymeless piece.
Reanimating creation with my everchanging interpretations.
 
I´m stuck on the page like the failed blowfly on the swatter.
Through this ugliness have i hidden my gift.