Paper airplanes folded from paper dolls—
You still hold my heart in another world,
Even as I bleed gasoline,
And I am forgetting vocabulary
And better and more eager parts of my soul—
When I get up in the morning,
There is so much jingoistic patriotisms
Over the happenstances of the fieldtrips of
Our playgrounds that I don't know
Anyways—Or all because of any number
You cannot even guess—
The beautiful women hyperventilating on
Their birthdays—just waiting for
Just any wish—
Or in the saddest playrooms of the daycares
Where I left you—
Even if across the canal the cats played and
Talked to themselves-
I've said I love you to too many Mexicans,
And now I guess I have to suppose
That the angels will have to
Take care of themselves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem