there are some nights
that leave me paralyzed
by the fear of the
only certainties—
the future will come.
the past has gone.
the present is here.
so i stumble forth into
the cold and edascious embrace
of the future,
and i let the present
collapse into the past,
but the past stays the past,
and you stay gone
and i stay drunk,
being dragged through
the hazardous terrain of time
by my limpid limbs
by some harbinger of
Truth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem