Swearing by these mountains that they know their
Paths—as mothers and mothers
Come home tumbling upon mountain bikes—
And the sky is a necklace of pearls above the mine
Shaft—
Eventually I will have to come down from my spying and
Have dinner with you—but for now it is
Taking forever—and my joints hurt and are in need
Of a good oiling—
And every time I look at you, I see that you are looking
Away, and collecting your head into the wishing well
Of the armpits of another god-d@mned
Good man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like this, powerful images, a strong central metaphor, good write.