my broken clown
his back is bunched
and rising to a head.
and on his other head
one eye to the coming
one eye to the gone.
a last eye is his smiling
blown-tire mouth
squirming to the rhythm
of here and now
living, he is, for those who
have hated enogh to love
with a greatness;
to love and see
beyond 2 heads and 3 eyes.
i believe i have seen my clown
dancing, ringing 'round
the moon
with two turtledoves
whose voices, having
been heard on the land,
were flying (male and female) ,
'round the moon
my clown has loved
enough to worry
about such things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem