you, dear friend, caught the brunt
of a spanked message,
never meant for you at all,
of the irascible scream
of the rough and brutal tactics
of this hideous disease.
again I woke this morning,
stiff like the sticks in a scarecrow
discordant within its flesh,
every smidgeon of every muscle unhitched
as if each had been diced in a meat grinder.
each bit itself distraught,
throwing a tantrum,
screaming at each other bit
in a futile effort to re-unite and rescue
the lithe miracle it is meant to be —
a demand beyond the stretch of this exhausted brain
that now haplessly begs the hallucinations of morphine.
but nature's simple smoke will have to do for now.
and those righteous pricks who think themselves
the judge of it
do not know this ogre's pain
nor the gainful shift of view toward one's quick mortality
while frantically pacing til I wear my body thin.
the anger that you don't deserve, dear friend,
is a mighty boomerang of that irascible scream.
bear with me, dear one, and be patient til my soul is done.
_____The Poet SPIEL
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem