Ah, the Sunderland blackberries deliciously bursting,
The cool sunset cracking waves of Montauk sound,
Where, as sole companions, we played slow games
of light, with all the nameless tombstones
in your te ikara-pou doll's broken eyes
as you drive directionless on the west coast,
in you, my salmon swim, on you, my seals sun.
In you exist, arias, of Bear Mountain trails
that my soul callously treks forever
just as you once desired, to know, where
love is. Leave signs to follow on your hike
upon your golden rainbow of hope
so that my multicolored arrows
may ecstatically arc towards them.
In historical winter you sold, then gifted,
first your indifferent broken heart,
with the dark nipples on your breasts,
and your soft buns of fallen snow,
the ancient bitter misandry
along with silence, thrown in,
to accompany my exile,
with the chickadees. Spring.
without your transparent marble arms,
with grayish blue flowing rivers of life,
where my kisses find anchor,
and my desire finds ocean shelter.
Ah, your enchanting song of frugal love
echoing, as evening's lust draws us darkly
your breath, moans, doubling in power
over and over, till their death, throws us apart
Like my hours of solitude on Worthington’s hill
where the mouth of the sun multiplies corncobs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem