BOOZE and rusty nails,
a brutal wind, carrying
your manic smile, traffic
lights, with matching luggage,
a clumsy thought, puts you
back in your wornout strait
jacket.
DONT botch it up,
dont botch it up,
says the queen,
for tonight, even the prodigal
son gets saved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem