What makes you
so clean and proper,
I'll pray
for a dare,
Yeah! I'll even
cry blood tears
if the heart has a heart,
And if the sky's big
blue dollop moves
me again, then so what!
Cotton clouds
to dab my wounds,
All that sharp human wire
tearing into my steely
eyes,
Until the death of
everything makes
us even harder...
Stiffer than a flesh bone!
More erect than the
ancient stones,
It's hard to believe
that all this soft pink
sponge could do so much
damage...
And that there's nobody
around here you can really
go to,
but some stranger at
the edge of your death...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem