I was robbed at gunpoint
But I still will ride horses
Around the acres of
Night, of
Sick conquistadors and
Lonesome coelacanth,
And something new is just
Being grown underneath
The graffiti of
My desk,
Either asparagus or
Pale,
Pale celery:
And I have never had
A brother to have had drowned
In a river;
And I do not have
A living son,
But the sun will come up
Tomorrow,
And this is so much fun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem