the sun goes down
through tall dry weeds
poems cause rashes on
moonlit philosophers
pain exists near the edge
the pattern it's essence
music laughs at everything
the pattern it's essence
I've noticed most people
do not believe music
frame the absurdity
quietly study agony
we die day by day
from Garden Songs (1995)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem