The persistence of shook leaves
Clinging so tenaciously to life and limb
Is all the roar of my October thinking now.
I, too, am such a tree as all these giants
Standing so forlorn and lordly in our tattered sleeves
Of last year's imagery, bare bark of skinny arms
Just beginning to elbow through, and bull elephant trunks
Of threadbare knees, belligerent and unyielding
In this swarm of clinging leaves:
Too many me's I want to tusk and gore
And stampede over; but no mighty roar of word or wind
Will have them all down, these
I want to re-dream a plethora of new me's;
I have ten-thousand itches I am reaching for!
And this is not the season for so many bees:
Beeing, when all I want to do is sleep and dream and snore;
But nettled by mere imitations limbed to me
Who mock my roar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem