The apartment building across
The street is a different color
When it rains
You wear a hood over your hair
And it could be any color
I wouldn’t know
The wind whistles, so funereal
I hear your voice
I turn on all the lights
Why must I fight darkness
In the middle of the day?
I am mud dredged up
From the grey bay
I want to drink vodka
Like the Russians do
But this is America
And a Monday
I am full to the brim
With desire also known as
Hunger, longing, want
The glass can never be
Half empty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem