Bird half flying, half falling to ground
tell Nico this:
Charity is simply not an option.
A jungle, too, has laws.
Your story is yellow furze. It
will play well.
Your griefs are hurled pearls-
they have luster. For you
pink ships churn a plaid wake. For
you a black rudder scores
an ocher fjord, For you,
dirndls. Hundreds of them
and in the drawer, clocks,
not pizzas.
Bolt the doors. Turn the key:
In the mirror a future
meet to any change recked.
Nothing is any different than you fear.
You
are spacious. Romantic. A
glimpsed noggin in a sea of venery.
Only for
Love
will I teach you my language.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem