here I lay in silent dead of night
amid the cigarette ashes and irredescent moonlight
shimmering through my little eye to paradise
to set sail aboard this ghastly vessel
though never sure
whether the voyage will be
like so many
forgotten memories-
only
to return to the same port anchored in my skull
or of past present or future glimpse of possibility
but for the moment,
return to the life of a convict growing old
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem