Through broken panes,
Decrepit barges
Cut past vertical lines;
My eyes slick
Horizontally
Over soft-rusted girders;
A corner of
Industrial junk,
Entertains
Regimented dancers
In white tutus and
Face-masks, swaying
To ' Swan Lake ';
Somewhere a steam-hammer
Is banging,
Or is it my head -
Outside the gulls
Scream at me:
' Dem Bones, Dem Bones! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem