My poetry is a subtle ploy
In the cold machinery of now.
My love of rich, flowing textures
Subverts all rigid convergence.
My metaphors are wild flowers
In an unweeded garden of words.
My concerns are multi-versed
Not narrow, tribal laments.
My heart is with the oppressed
Not the cold, corporate elites.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem