This morning at five to ten nineteen souls
and I sit for the ten o'clock opening impatient and hungry eyed:
there's soul food inside.
Here are our votive offerings stacked up in piles of seven:
twice seventy stale romances bulwark-banked
mine on my left, hers on my right
and on and on down the line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice idea and enjoyed reading it..