Sunrise in the flickering city.
Snaring streets tie windy knots in time.
Rhythmic neon emblems,
Pale in the hangover sun,
Disturb the boundaries of sight
And syncopate the mindbeat.
In the gutters, dirty water,
Plumed with wreathing rainbow gas,
Injects abandoned newsprint
And continues to the sea.
And faces passing, passing, passing,
Workweek-waking, journey-jolted,
Wrapped in thought-projected landscapes,
Each to each beyond their far horizon.
Time to leave these dusty regions,
Voices crying “Come! Away!
Out beyond the deeper margin!
Come and leave the grieving day! ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem