The poetry around me ain’t even words
It’s a feeling I try to get rid of
Not by overflowing or war but
By stayin’ in this poor town poor
These heads, these eyes, all round, all round
Compress my lungs I try
To make a sound I found is difficult
When you’re surrounded by horns
Horn blow, horn sound in the poor town poor
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Towns each have their own personality.