Don't carve out my rough and bumpy parts
as they're good for mastication and steering
from salty towns to bitter hubs. How might
I whistle your name clearly? Twist me to
the roof of the yellow Volkswagen and
propel me towards destinations of good
taste. I'll wag myself in the open air lingo,
whooshing along a vivid splash of highways
and truck stops and diesel dive bars and my
mouth knows I am the meat and potatoes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poetic imagination, Scotty. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks