mild piece that I am yellow,
goloshed plucked and palookad
so treble I break from the dream of dead popes
luck that I like friending
soft packed in a sixteen non filter
trickling tender on the glass plaque
for my brain standing gaurd boys,
pipbrook mills
and a dollar forty three in tongues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem