Words bring the familiar places: poets of living rooms
And neighborhoods,
And memories of holidays of
Halloweens and Christmases
That I’ve been drinking to since high school—
But I am not in love with pretty girls any more—
I have a son and new reasons to share with him.
Yet, the mermaid languishes,
Catatonic illusions underneath the motor boats—
Better words thought up by better men
Are more diserved by her than by anyone—
And yet where there once was so many misspellings in
Her heart, now there is only loneliness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem