hanging straps swing
all across an empty bus
not always the same way
as it climbs
under the green shaded
wildly swinging lamps
in the black and yellow room
time tilted the table
and from one corner
rolled off the accretions
half blacked lights
turn yellow
as we turn and climb
away from the gates
a hung rail tolling into the night
of what could be
another yellow grass crusted hump
blood is now where it ought to be
the pain is only sensation returning
to legs that went to sleep
it is all dark and
where are we?
[we were returning home]
over unfamiliar anxious ground
panic descending
[and loneliness]
as you slept
it is all there
like blood on the street
waiting dark and frozen
for the rain to come
inevitably
after the accident
trivia mostly mostly pain
memorable flies that cling
to windshaken lampshades
two people in the rain
with nothing left to be said
I am trying to remember
where it was we were returning home
April 4,1974
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
trivia mostly mostly pain memorable flies that cling to windshaken lampshades two people in the rain with nothing left to be said this part is beautiful...did you write this poem in 1974?