Like the Pisa Tower leaning,
I hope to never hit the ground
while unprotected by the meaning-
less attempts I make to seem profound.
Irrelevant as buttresses
on buildings concrete reinforces,
my thoughts compete now in rat races
that can’t be won by champion horses.
Mutable, sublime, obsessive,
I contradict myself, a teaser
of those who find the straight oppressive,
preferring pendulums in Pisa.
3/27/06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a nice metaphor, toweringly inspiring