Bleak, exhausting, public rehabilitation
Inside the private boundaries
Under the vices of the upper orders
Within conscious horizons as political borders
I am swimming to Los-Angeles
floating in my very own paradox
Crossing the sleave, crossing the strait
Inside the private boundaries of Oregon state
Curious pulses, they do not articulate
The subtle formlessness
Not new world, but another chaos
The comfort zone of complete loneliness
And maybe- in between each dream I beseach
I won't wake up again in this room
But off the shores of Venice Beach
Not this low tide- bright light gloom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem