a cement block
selling food
across an angel's
flight path
don't plan good days
just have them
death in a museum
by some star
with the smiling brunette
and then
there were my roots
coloring the plaza
unfamiliar favorites
delivered by train
and this was half
of the day i ended
sweet with routine
sharing the guest room's
bed with mimz
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem