Inconsequential as a harp played by itself
So utterly far away from
Angels as we are from Kenya and its mystical
Bal boa trees,
But I have nothing left to do but to sweep the
Floor
Even well past the hour when those things poisoned
Should be well turned back into
The mundane innocence of the room;
And I love beautiful girls with super slick curves,
And no holds barred aqueducts
Under the simplest of skirts like spaceships of
Lampshades
Those oversized zoetropes spot naked in the Phoenix
Desert
Like a well lit dressing room for special eyes to see
The men and wolves leaping naked behind and
Changing into each other
While the hummingbird waits like a turbid gentleman
Over the mole of her breast,
And her eyes swing away, swing away
Like children who will forever be too sad to become
Exemplary,
But who are otherwise unperturbed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem