Without a ghost I am dead.
And languishing on the servicing highways
I wander—
In a marriage I am allowed to drift,
Cultivated into the working class—
I go about my way the same as anyone—
Happy marionette
Pulled by the stolen lactations of
The moon—
The elevators of my dreams escape me,
But at least I don't have to
Go to school anymore—
I can meander as far as my English mind
Can take me:
Pulled back and forth like the tide
By forces I can barely glean—
But it is a beautiful act,
Staged by the ideologies of men
Forever freeing themselves into cages,
Little shadows, like minnows,
In the tide pools upon the edge of oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem