I’m boring, I know. But I have to be
Like others, for you to understand my poetry.
I stand among white petals that fall and die.
In one hand I hold the sun, and in the other, a slightly smaller eye.
In the center of the red sidewalk
I hold a red piece of chalk.
I have to be like them; they are the air
I was born to breathe. You stare
With amazement, because I seem
Beautiful and different; but this is an empty dream;
In the end, no matter what I say—
“Sun! Red! Love!”—you’ll find the same clay
Went in to making me
As that artist in the shadows there—
No, don’t stare—
Keep your eye on my poetry.
Did you think I was going to give you something?
Lady, this is robbery.