Stains from the tip of a pen
experiential etiquette well worn
like a finely stitched pocket—
valuable ramblings folded
into the fiber of all being...
and saved;
spots—discarded words as crumbs
crumpled up in piles on a plate
like crushed old cars stacked
in a wrecking yard—
scrawled on eighty percent
post-consumer pulp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem