Broken in the arch of rainbows while I grind my teeth
And wait for another quarter to spin
My lunch in the gumball machines of pac-man or into another
New euphoria of this or that hallucination of
Romance while taking off my cap:
And it all spills away like the lunchroom of tears or chickens
Over the caesuras of lunchrooms or midday forays
While the fighter pilots lie down and touch themselves
After the four colors of whatever primary
Nurseries that fail to premier and then all there is this:
In the lines who cavort over the short shaves of destiny and the
Long formicated courts who someone lead all the ways up
To the blonde and justified summits of whatever gods that were
Always there; and failing to premiere in their bathrooms their
Resolve to appear just as they always was:
Naked and justifiably ululating, communicating with the planets
Of the chimps and the butterflies, in the daycares of everywhere,
Overspilling and lactating over the continents who have
Come together over the potlucks of all the just who have always
Was.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem