good for you man
you are lucky
filthy rich they say
when you are filled
with guilt
you fly to thailand
and ride one
of its boats on the
mekong river
you float upon the
murkiness of your
thoughts
that is good
your neighbor touches
his chin
and nods
people here have been
killing themselves
as though they have
nine lives like
the legendary cat
of course even with
nine lives
because of that hasty
hate
they never ask
whoever
that they come back
and begin their
beings again
so no one has ever
spoken inside
that dream
no one haunts like
a horror story
everyone speaks about
a certain silence
hints about a slim sorrow
it is a world of
anything goes of
anything said
but there is nothing
really direct as
flat as a wall with
white paint all over
there are sketches, etchings,
somethings
come-ons, let go's
no one minds at all
everyone is busy
wanting to understand
but no one really
does
the real thing
swans floating on the river
butterflies floating on air
dirigibles exploding finally
over the news...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem