My every thought ends
in an exclamation mark today
and each one like a papercut
shreads me.
An errant string
of seven words,
one a contraction,
seeks to seperate me
from a future that has
stirred awake,
yet I am
a description of silence.
A man goes far
to find out what he is.
I am letting my thoughts happen.
What choice do I have
but let the winds blow?
One can not divert rivers.
As I struggle along this pavement
a two faced wind
renders breathless the lampposts,
the leaves peel,
laying naked the sticks of trees.
I've been here before,
I know the feel,
but with all the ink in the world
I can not pin it down.
As mist swelling in shadows
silence envelopes my tongue,
the contraction.
I move across;
a pretend river over stones.
Always falls away.
I climb out of my fear,
having fallen in,
awake in every nerve.
A man will go far
to find out what he is!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem