When you are as transparent as the glasses on my face
when we start building houses without roofs.
Maybe as I crash just like the Internet: three times a day
maybe I'll be closer to the truth.
Maybe when this poem is something other than a hopeless flop
maybe if the world is flattened when I take my next big step
perhaps we'll find a way to pick up water by each single drop
and put it on a string around our necks.
