i used to think i could only write at times of despair. times when hell froze over and demons sat next to us at tables at the bar. when one had a drinking problem or personal issues. i on the other hand write when i feel excitement. when clouds help the sun do its job and cars sing and lilacs dance. cups and plates spring from the cabinets with life and take hands with each other and spin and twirl. water geysers into the air behind a chorus of people who line the blocks of the city outside. sadly...i haven't felt like that much, so i guess this really isn't writing. the person at the next table singing and dancing must be the devil in disguise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem