Filled With Matches
GRACE… proposed first, boxes filled with matches.
Was duration supposed to mean course of fire.
Two, fields of disappearing carpet floors worn
To wooden slats lifted on brick piers;
Anchoring waist high antique tables from tipping,
From ground leveled by rodent foot tracks
Hardened into dry soil hidden from sunlight
Settling into dust, without adhesion to cake to sand.
No desert means return to land.
Choice made to know, to pick up sticks to say yes
To use of sticks' tips, dipped into dry red blood,
Fueling to ignite imagination of where to live
The married life of proposition, by moral ignorance
At the end of reality of the feudal case of matches
On farms of abundance of fields with barns
For the winters where matches we choose can live
And we rake turning growth of our seed into fire
From sudden scratching to select one duration
By low drain streams constantly flowing
Like punctuation omitted, changes literal meaning
Through summers turned from snow melt
To roaring winter rapids. Grace in the place,
Depend on ignorance of meaning of friend of
Hospitality, reading with and without punctuation.
Meaning and artificiality of shape of reality
In white ghost faces, in mirrors of northerly firth
Count the change brothers and sisters
Denominators amount to interest and insurance
Premiums paid on lives wasted,
On nonwhite attributes of native hospitalities;
On white ghost attribute matches to Money,
Money, money, moneeeeey. Boxes of matches
Of numerators and denominators.
And white native attribute of absence of
Moral trust and bribery, bribery, bribery,
Briiiiiibery. Grace… selfless filled with matches.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem