You want to reach
out as far as Space,
and write it on the
face of something
with more longevity,
I can visualise
the dust of time
around me,
convolutions
in demon angel eyes,
don't don't don't
don't don't don't
our crematory body
will blow away,
I walk through town
then a hundred fathoms
down...
until weird looking
fish with blue antenna
dart out and bite me,
but in spite of that
I tear through their
necks and severe the
cables,
what happened to
all the blobs of red
inside me?
then I bite my own
arm off and feed
it to a shoal of words,
see this hand...
I don't trust it!
it has to seize upon
the idea very very fast,
I mean at least to operate
as something that would
seem more possible or real,
as I don't know what it is,
that makes me rabid
with all this tardy expression,
stop heart -
oh! well -
go on do your
little dance,
pulsar!
but watching everyday
like big round
dark reptilian flecked
saucers,
you've got T.V. all over
your face, here take this
and wipe it...
I will smile until the last
fatal bubble - pops,
and we are gone....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem