I am jealous of the sand
beneath you
around you
what you see
bright things erased lady
sparkling and traveling without luggage
liquidity
before X
you are tattooed on my back music
dies down
I too grew up in
the soft hands
of the gods
and a little donkey will lead them
Tears, tears, and I know
just what they mean
honeysuckles at night
I wrote this poem for you and haven't lost it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I too grew up in the '60s and attached your Idea of a University to my mind like a tattoo expropriated by your LifeMag cover in Grayson Kirk's chair as appropriate and hope you haven't lost it like the retrospectives have.