No one is getting any closer than
This, and the airplanes
Are taking off to somewhere I cannot believe—
The words are gone like
The patrons of a church gone up in smoke
Over which the dragon is singing like
A happy camper,
And someone is in love, as the forest is
Painted with gore for Christmas—
The festivities continue until I am finally in
Love with someone else's mother,
And the delusions of the past happen all
At once—memories which cannot control
Themselves,
And all of the muses of my life languishing
Together in the park of one too many shadows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem