I got up from a comfy rest
the day is threatening sunshinefullness
I see my 1971 car
and I see my 1969 bike
grass, life
I guess my body is still alive,
again
What will the Universe deliver today?
If I don't, as usual, get in the way
A West Indian Girl serenades
I feel no handy live grenades
What reality is my dance?
Must I get up and put on my pants?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem