Early morning days reeled in by cold
Flute-boned birds
That know what they are doing,
And down in the peat moss trailer parks
Almost to Michigan,
You can resurrect me from the giant once-pink
Tombstones of narcissism’s valentines
Even if all of the earth was sucked dry
By mounted vampires
And the stars lost their appeal and didn’t jounce
Anymore for drunkards,
With your female hands like wands of teak
And the usual cypress bows,
Hanging upside down from your usual trees
Doing all the tricks they taught you in high school
Before you melted away like tawny lavender,
Like plush rabbits in the field of blind carpenters
For those boys:
You could include me too, and put on me a spell
With your casually eager senses that would
Make me as stiff as a red mailbox flag that would take
Some time to go down again,
Even miles after you’d found your disinterest,
And sunken again like a rumor into the grotto of your
Ghostly virgin’s bed,
Becoming once more the afterthought of a tuning fork
For boys as quick as proverbial lightning
Striking out of the extemporaneous cerulean escargot and
Conquering just about everything it ever saw.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem