Land plays baseball with
Stolen goods: little
Black boys smile like gold
Chains on their mezzanines,
And I wander so far
Away from school,
Just to get out of the
Range of your eyes:
Far away your atmosphere
Rises like a mushroom
Cloud;
Your narcissistic echoes
From the classroom are
As sweet and musical
As an icecream
Truck;
And I think of you all day,
Leaping over canals
And graveyards;
Pretending to be a conquistador
With my plastic sword,
I see you rising through the
Sky,
Like an unreachable sprig
Of grapes,
Like dancing without gravity,
Something truly beautiful
That has no need to
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem