Hey - i wonder if you look
like this,
or like that,
when your own bodily
smells hit you -
in the face,
it's all in place,
out in space,
and everywhere around you!
the self, individual,
climbing up a human face
with all but a crumb
of the everyday knowledge,
I know nothing
will really work,
unless we stay quiet,
long enough...
omissions of air!
and so alive, waiting,
watching, working, eating,
not my head or neck,
or position, to move,
to the burned out, war torn
places,
until the soul
with little,
turns even more empty!
good living, houses, jobs,
all the cables filled with blood,
empty into quiet drums,
with little thrum,
that vein all the great
big halls and noble walls,
community holes,
bleeding out
the all important paper....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem