Stretch my canvas skin over a
Wooden frame of bones
And paint me up with
Twisted Revelries.
The ones that lay forgtten on
Hot sidewalks three thousand miles away.
Hang me up in an art museum under tell tale
Show room lights,
Hold me up so they can see
A psychotic artist's interpritation
Of accidental destiny.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem