halfway to a mutation
with rotund posterior
spring said nothing to Simon Jones
only instinct repeated and repeated
the scarcity of birds
the thin guise of civilization
shrubs trimmed neatly
in a vain attempt to hide
the pagan voodoo symbols
selected for wholeness
Simon knew only hungry people
and some that eat
Simon prayed often
and washed his hands
and showed his poems
to close friends
and in the end
sold all he had
and moved to the tropics
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem