Weeks of cessation,
The car won’t star, the grass doesn’t grow:
The bricks are red but growing old,
And all of the biblical passages have been read—
Lovers, looking each other in the eye, have passed
Away through various means and woes—
Cadavers, once dancing in the rain,
Pretend to be terrapins and cenotaphs in the rain,
And little girls look up at the sky’s nude are
And really believe that this is how grown-ups should
Behave,
And how they too will behave once they have
The right car and edicate married within the ballrooms
That otherwise wouldn’t move.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem