Of another day of godless beauty- of waking to
The estranged love- We can hardly even speak together,
And she is married,
But how she loves me: talent less, like that-
And I can’t hardly look at myself in the mirror:
The fires run, my dog has fleas:
The traffic rushes forward, and then it rushes home.
The road is not yellow, but the road is everywhere
Attributing to the arbitraries-
And I remember who I loved, and how she went away-
Now my muse is Mexican: she has two children,
And I’ve kissed her mouth in the zoo:
Now I can hardly even spell, but I’ll be up again-
As the fires blaze blinding the dreams of the better
Constellations,
And I’ll touch her brown skin like a monarch butterfly
Discovering a fire to die in- and it will spread all around
Me, and the crowds of crowds will make good money
Off that most flammable tourism.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem