crucify me and I must be the cross and nails.
I tend the cup and I must be the hemlock.
I cheat and I must be lying.
I burn and I must be hell.
I praise and thank each instant of time.
My food is all things.
The precise weight of the universe, humiliation, joy.
I justify what hurts me.
I am the poet.
Pd. Are not we all of us writing the same row? Convicted and blessed ...
Borges impossible not to admire, not feeling so great. Unforgivable not to read it.
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