I am a hot dropp of tear rolling down
a saddened cheek; soaking this page
as life hits you hard-
I am not a poem
Maybe a salty profuse of sweat
dripping out the pore of a tired
skin; damping this page
as your thoughts run through life-
I could be phlegm and saliva
spat out of an absinthian mouth
dripping down this page; slimily
as you taste of the bitters of life-
Or a transferred aggression
on a blameless sheet
smitten with the stroke of a sharpened pen
as life shows you its other color
Maybe I am one lousy thought
popped out of a medulla oblongata
and into a thinking mind
as your heart nakedly looks at life-
But I am not a poem
And truly so, I am not a poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem