we live in a world
where escalator handles
are buzzing bees (or the
beginnings of the murder of them)
pit stains are rainbows
and rainbows the pit calm
called sunrise
it's beer on sunday's with
that sun and
this burp pit whoop
no one will ever stop staring.
why would they
the world can seem so
empty if we look too hard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It depends what you are looking for. Nice poem, Veronica. Thanks for sharing