In this resort of river and resilience
This blinding light from earnest sweat
I a middle aged lonely man
a lidless dumpster
Invites one way traffic of scorn
I always thought it was about
Legs apart
But now issue a Public Apology
To the loner of conscience
Nay not legs ajar but hands clasped
On streets of this land of thighs
I see worm of egos
Each competing on self erasure
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem