Chatreuse caterpillar upon the brown stem
Of Janie's nose—
Ever wondering if she'll ever grow up—
And what is the thing that she was made to be:
A stewardess upon a quest for the
Service industry—learning to leap from
Like stony wishes from bed to bed—
As sweet as chicken, hypnotized from
Paris to Shanghai—
As I lay in my classroom listening to the tornado
Drill,
Waiting for the beautiful girls to come in
And to promise such sweet things to me—
A zoetrope of heeling wounds—
The foxes laughing around the,
Drinking the light from their wounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem