I’m no good at speaking
I don’t know when to stop
I know what I want to say
But can’t let the matter drop
And like some frenzied artist
Forever in a rush
Never satisfied the painting’s finished
I keep returning with my brush
My mind’s a messy canvass
Filled with arguments and wrangles
I can’t get the right perspective
Through covering all the angles
Unable to make a statement
Without yet another try
Seeking to be correct
To excuse and qualify
Until finally words are useless
Made harmless and bland
Or overladen with meaning
And impossible to understand
1992
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem