Telephone wires perambulate like hating
gophers digging up the yard. Billions of
dropping stars are sighing in unison as
the aching of the teddy bears awakens
the cameras of conceit. You and I are
using toothpicks to strip the floor of
its diseases. We sometimes march. We
sometimes do not. Often we delay the
very meaning of getting things done.
I request that we try and drag solo.
Attempt, perhaps, a single framed smile.
But owls know better and flutter like bats
stretched inside an imploding valued glass.
Drink the drink offered, not the one that
was desired. Be brave, cowardly pictures.
Glow like icons on the painted walls.
We tapped our feet in unison to the
bleating of the water pipes cavorting.
Electricity shuts on and off. We find
we do not mind, as we clap our toes
upon the tiled floors. So many people
are afraid to expand, and so they whimper
away their possibilities. Instead, they
embrace only one side or the other.
Let us convince ourselves that we will
never agree to drink the coloured kool-aide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem