DO YOU HAVE MY FINGER or MISSING TOE?
So long ago.
I dug in so deep,
I pierced bone and hit soul.
Where all colors were infants,
And poetic words scrambled
Awaiting to be born.
Those words now live on paper,
And the colors have married canvas.
They are snippets of me
far-reaching now
In others' worlds.
Holes in the fabric of me;
Me for sale in increments
And snippets.
I am as swiss cheese from long being poet/artist.
IT'S MY FAULT FOR DREAMING...the swiss cheese life at all
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem