The disheveled
wallet
flung
memory pages
like
the popcorn machine
crisp
minute
brown
i walk
through
a monochrome forest
a sun
no shadow
brief interlude
the dance of death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the pattern of these words as we all know we will be taking this last waltz one day. Thank you