Let the shame drown
highlighting your intention
for a 3-pointer
into the hoop of luck.
A hydrant of gray
spews out clouds of hue
as the clock borrows a key
into a treehouse of wait.
Munch, munch, munch
go sink in sand.
I’ll munch on my bag of chips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem