To a standing stone alone;
Underneath the bluing high
My palms are open, softened, weak
My fingers, ringless, sorry, free
I've got no business here to be
But i sit staring off down on my knees
Reddened bleedin dusted feelings
Got no words to say hello
Got no other ways to go
My memory of you's beamin down at me
Your memory of me's nowhere to be seen
-From a beaten city fella
From somewhere west o' my lizard home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem