Empty, torn-pockets
Heart is filled
And each cell of blood and the mind and the nerves
I am rich
I am rich
I am rich
Let the bank turn me down
Let Harper, CIC and others of their kind
Bullshit, talk
That’s just, diarrhea
I don’t care
I don’t care
I don’t care
I’m in love, falling leaf
When we falls off a bough
Or branch, on the wall
And the bird
Says “goodbye”
And leaf falls
Once again
To the grave
Gravel
Empty, and no soul
But it is generous
Will soon turn
To dust, soil
I am that
Let pockets
Be as they are
Empty with no dime
I don’t care
Not at all
That is all
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem