As the mountain hungers to be made flat
So I burn for your salvation.
Help me to forgive the airplanes
strafing me on the skyscraper.
The centipedes in the pillowcase
know not what they do.
Spread open my chest with a spring-clamp
And let my heartbeat keep my time.
These trembling hands want work.
These clapping lips want song.
To you I lift a styrofoam cup.
Pile on, dear God, pile on!
(2006)
Wow, Mike... I don't know entirely why, but this one speaks to me, not the least being the last line. Write on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so clever, so brilliantly written and concise at that! i'm envious, for sure.