Then there is the going home-
Not the great Going
that is never-ending,
but the little one.
Every day we do it. Like cows.
Statuesque or slack,
relaxed or prim,
shifting sidelong through space
often through sleet
and wind,
distracted-
blinders on and earplugs in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hey brother, i love your bus poems i'm going to read all your poems guess that says how much i think of your writing later peace brother & all that good stuff