Emotion is more electrical,
our foot caught on the cord,
the blink we have to take.
Don't explain, says the little bird.
Don't tell who we are either.
Up and down the tarmac
fly guns in crates like sausages,
links of what we think we need.
Not me, not me,
chirps the chirper. But
there we are, yelling again,
or crying, or frying—
blinking. Manmade
fritz lies
behind muscle and even
brain. Why, that smile,
while not shocking, belies
emotion's grounding: sic,
read as written, if we can,
with these dark plugs out.
We will still cough.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice start /Emotion is more electrical, our foot caught on the cord, the blink we have to take. concluding lines with message / read as written, if we can, with these dark plugs out. We will still cough. well penned thank you Negligence or over enthusiasm kills us