Can't write anymore,
Or start a car,
As the sun rises, peeks.
I need a mop.
No cholesterol in chips,
Yet clouds quicken, so high.
Pills diminishing. Pain everywhere.
Ooops, there's one left.
Agatha lifts her skirt, flamenco's
the gulf. Two ankles, knees, one
butt for 2022.
Dying is not an option for Tat.
Did Danny fix my vacuum?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem