Yeah- yeah, feral Christmas tree decorated with all
The blue jays and escaped pet store snakes,
Blue jays gorging off the shapes of more minor birds,
And the snakes off of them,
And the cousins off themselves;
Which brings a stranger’s light, a semiannual death out
Into the tree, swimming like the ghosts of Arthur’s
Knights, disemboweled and never finding that grail-
They swing there is if from the memory of the witch’s
Tits
And armpits,
While the birds and legless creatures chirp and fart;
They swing like uncorked censers,
Perfuming the unquieted, apathetic canopy of
Victorious dark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem