Laying in my after thought
beside me you are.
Tired but arn't we all yet
thrills are hard to come by
for fourty nine scent's.
Victims play our follys out
table salt drips off you t.v.
keeps us up so you
walk the streets unseen
nothing but the padding
of your heals on the
bricks eating clams...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem