older still is blue than green born to late by the spin told doctor
whose cobweb logic holds a few silk cocoon secrets
re-entry of the womb with a little scattered potters soil, seperation of all rooting tomorrows.
yet older still is the turnip fist than the bloody knuckle, scibbled names on rocks who cannot remember. yet older still is truth than reason..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem