how did it begin anyway
this love of sound and words and rhythm
and word painting?
did a bunch of perhaps thirteen men and women
gather one night
under the star-covered trees
and eat pizzas and say:
tonight we’ll not drink sake
or soma
and we’ll not have sex
or argue about swines and politics and metaphysics;
we’ll not drink wine or breathe in fumes
that make minds gallop like wild boars
but, tonight, we’ll drink words instead?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem