Which corner laid first,
the peeled garden colors
Left time
Shorn of gloss and roughworn
Cardboard cutout male and female
Pieces torn
Where are the crowds
But dispersed
Running in pictures from
A high-frequency aural sting
Scream of mad hatters,
A table left so vividly bleak
The robots moved in next door
Unpacking their things
With stilted, generic voice
Keys lost somewhere in kitchen floor creak
The question haunts
Through crocheted fibers
Of bioluminescence
And material the dark shores buzz for
Inveterate vertebrate braided still
Not knowing this night lake outside our door
Bring the kids, bring the seashell
Wheel the whelk in viscous goo
Speeding at times of gray dawn
On our daily commute
It's these city associations
That fall on deaf fingers
Groping her still
To tune of a yesteryear prom song produced tomorrow
And I wave, her tiara sparkles
Pieced together with glue
She bled on TV, had numerous articles
Written in grotesque manner rich with homily
I see it all anew
These pieces fit so tight together
I see through a spotted lens
Troubled With the prints of my finger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem