Strolling along through the desert, listening to 'Back Stage
Crew' and following independent avenues of thought, never
allowing any disturbances to mar the views I have of rhythm.
Taking charge of inward fidelity and letting it be situated
in sequences, appearing in chords of talent.
Expecting only intelligence of any gifts coming to the surface
just to be blended with all the others and set into frames of
beautiful prose.
Loving the landscapes as they are set into rhythms of prose
and allowed to continue growing ever after they've been
composed into many poems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem