Penny ante pageantry so blinds you that
You cannot spell—
I've been the sunlight over-spilling on
Your window sill—
And the world becomes just so many places
Without any sound-
Holidays and werewolves,
And housewives cavorting across the grounds—
In the beautiful echoes from which they
Spill,
As the crucify another god upon his beautiful,
Beautiful hill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem