i fell outa a well worn sky
where gray tried to order the day
an arcing flash of jagged light
like a searing Searcy spitting dark
turning calm to fear and fear to fish
nutin' likeit in those days
and nobody's bidness but yours
Carles Bullcowski raised his ugly head
and Bull Hawking was born
your unlucky soul found his basted bones
close to the bottom of see
he tried not to look
having felt quite a hook
in the twisted lines of his life
he was never a catch
even less in this shape
but you can roll it shake it or smoke a peace pipe
there's something behind this old cape
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem