A catheter leaks,
quality of hearing suffers.
A tethered song sears on blue flames.
The actual, displaces the pain
truth becomes non-pigmented.
In space you move noisily
waking the birds.
Tomorrow will come with writhing cries-
bounties of past.
Not myself, himself, yourself.
The new experiments in womb
remained fruitless.
A malformed, distorted progeny was born
on payments without glory.
Masses were swelling without self knowing.
Thinker was silent. Philosopher was dumb.
Architect had the thumbs amputated.
A mausoleum of love remained unbuilt.
Sky was overcast, hid the sun.
The earth inherited the broken glass.
Last stanza did it for me. Nah, the whole thing did. best care, sjg
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Inside the tube of the plunger a red rose blooms, blossoms, its head above the thorn. Beyond the horn, beyond the map that remains folded in the glovebox, or the packet flattened in the wallet. Why we call it Dutch I'll never know.
Who are you Lantz, polishing my thoughts?