a little less of a little more.
a smaller me in the attic of someone
elses house.
a little futher away until i do not have
to worry about the words or the punctuation,
the notoriety of the base emotion.
the evangelical viewing of gods holy dice,
causes me to take a chance.
wandering
round the streets at night with a styrofoam
cup full of copper possibilities.
revival of the inner nautilus, want and luster
polish my penny combed voyage.
journey into the interior, finding myself
on the street at two a.m.
strange man in my clothes, unable to
shed the need to get drunk.
more or less staggering wandering,
taking a chance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem