STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING he shouted from behind his paper machet mask
and we ran before he could breath the cold night air or move what little muscel he had
we didnt know where we were going
the acid burned our lungs and clouds of poisons breath escaped our laughing lips
We had left him behind dressed in shadows and midnight blue,
his whislte and club of no use
His uniform stained in sweat and frustration
His mask slipping
We spent our selves in bars and clubs,
drinking like it was water and we had come in from the desert
I cannot recall what else happened that night
I awoke a few moments ago in a bed of glass and twisted dreams
happy days night to follow the wisdom inherited from booze bring on a wry smile almost too good to be true fianlly cut to pieces by the brain's rebellion a fine poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear Rosa, Pay attention to minute details; watch the spelling and punctuation. Please don't take offense to any of my fault-findings but if you plan to send any of your works out to publishers they will be very scrutinous indeed. Don't give them any reason to dislike your poems because of improper grammar. I once was lambasted for using the British spelling for materialise by an American press; it's true, I'm not kidding! I would appreciate your perusing my poems whenever you get a chance and reciprocate by critiquing from your vantage point. Gregoryxxx