Doing my new part for the hunger
That already finds me alone, even though I
Remember hotels that remain always halfway vacant
One or two days from here across the country
That is our country-
As these are her easily spindled wounds, as my muse
Lies down her head again with him in a bed of brown
Skin liked hushed cane that is soon to burn
Until I can pick her up and carry her across my shoulders
As if through a sea of traffic
That has no mind for us, and so we are peaceful through
All of their chaos,
And I can raise my head and nod my chin to
Some unspecific star- and kiss the hallucinations
Across the burning asphalt, and check my distance-
As my living body carries her onwards
Across the wounded battlefields of fleshed delusion:
And all of the way, until I can lay her here,
Honeymooned in the spot I’ve told her about,
And both of us of different colors, our senses collected
Like a bouquet distilling forever through the
Heartbeats in an open classroom of sunshine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem