No evil intentions
When I sneeze;
No ghost is walking through me
As I toast my handful of flax seeds.
There by the dirty window
Overlooking a garden of weeds
And teetering to drink last night's beer
Holding on to a brazen sneer.
What was parted but you, not the Red Sea;
Perhaps my unwashed hair
As I look at Cezanne's now-rotting pear
And gasp for forgotten air.
You troubled me, maiden.
My pinned pupils give me away;
They in the end hold sway
And then there is a knock at the door.
A delivery, nothing more:
An old friend sent me a parcel of weed.
How it got passed I know not indeed.
But I light some up to see what's in store.
The dizziness, the photophobia
In the dusty air I breath;
This apartment is the essence of claustrophobia
And smells like my deserved death.
Yes, almighty one, approach me, death:
I am sucking up my final noxious breath.
I spit out the damned flax seeds:
My grass is dying like those obnoxious weeds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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