I was dropped into a nigh-well,
stone on water
sound on darkness
perforations of light on the blackboard-sky.
The house struggled at everything:
climbing into the eyes
slithering down the nose
probing the lips for a kiss
examining the tongue for narcotics,
struggling with erection
struggling with penetration
struggling with digging deep into the mind.
I lived as if, like a God.
The garden was better still:
contrite flowers, browbeaten grass,
Fiddling away like a dune,
the whispers traversed the ear:
I was lost in time.
Fudge now. Run like you never knew shelter.
There is time.
There will be time.
For you to run away.
Entr'acte between life and death.
Connive an abature now,
renege all convictions:
In the hefty rays of dawn,
in the terrible music of the road,
we shall Make Our Own.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem