E parece que alguém ficou viciada em escrever poesia... acho que estou criando monstros! Valeu, Pi!

I pick a piece of paper
And when I touch it
Its whiteness purifies my mind

It becomes the most
magnifying, divinest
Blank

And then it starts spinning
Round and round like a caroussel

Overwhelmed by its birghtness,
by its wonderful blurry images
I do not feel my stomach aching

And when it stops
I, dizzy and vertiginous
throw up black letters on its paleness
It's done; my poetry is made.