Seems I go blinder everyday
And every day I become less of a writing man
Who knows what’s going on?
My shoes still fit
And my head remains unmade for hats
My hair and nails still grow
My health must be excellent
I can’t seem to think things up
As clear as I once did
I’m more confused than ever
Someone must’ve put something in my drink
Regardless—
I’m alive and things are simple
But it seems that I’ve gotten complicated
Who’s to say I’ll understand?
So in the upcoming days
I’ll find a girl
I’ll shorten my fingernails
And work on my poetry
Who knows what comes hereafter?
I won’t trouble myself to know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem