I don’t know how many times I cycled
these channels.
A dozen, maybe two.
I guess it merely reflects my sheer anxiety.
It’s Saturday night at 9: 48 in Oakland,
And I am as sure as sure can be that
I’m slowly losing my sanity.
It is no longer home sickness.
It is an elaborate, uncontrollable disease that
is feeding and growing from my energy.
Leaving me at the brink of tears for a familiar sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem