My arms are limbs that must be trimmed.
My face is made up of others sins.
My bones are brittle like the passing wind.
My legs are spiders swimming in your gin.
The birds are nesting inside my skull.
They whisper things to me god doesn't even know.
They chirped that my head is now a hat.
And I can take it off when ever I am sad.
You can write with my skin on the chalkboard.
Teach all of the others what I'm here for.
My feet are cement just like your floor.
When I walk up to you I make the ground sore.
My lungs remind us that the air will go bad.
Taste test the oceans for the wings I once had.
My spine is made up of a blade of grass.
My skeleton will crumble into the past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked some of the rhymes in this one. Of course, I didn't understand it at all. I really do admire this peculiar gift of this writer. There were more understandable things in this one, so it wasn't as good as the last. GW62