strange tatty refugee
but still invisibly
connected to a ricky lake
umbilical cord
Jesus cut it off...free me
from this welfare common
connectedness!
harsh open eye
sleep with four brothers
sharing the communal
christmas bed...
cold feet no joy
the curse to be
inclined to Rachmaninov
attracted by Ezra Pound
inspired by Jackson Pollock
and consoled by Victor Hugo
the vomit peptic fear of the mocking
thrash pokes and jeers
what you doing boyo?
you better then us Mr.cufflinks
i sway nietschean in the late night streets
elegantly drunk...wailing a repetive witty song
of myself
odd little sod..blot the little rot
the price of cod...this value his rot
tra la la
standing at a red light cross over
in the bronx
beethoven plays through your german
precision window
extending my gesture of fellowship
you say no small change closing
the window
concreting the crooked melody forever
odd little sod..blot the little rot
the price of cod...this value his rot
tra la la
i am so alone...maybe not because shadows
peels from a graffitti wall
it is a meth band of off alley wolverines that cash
in on my nothingness
taking my notebook laughing and pulping me
i look beetroot faced to the stars and ask dear mr.Sir
what is my worth?
glassy eyed dead cats head looking at me in the middle
of main road
crawling home on tarmac knees and palm..dark night of the
soul ended and purposed renewed
writing poetry..embracing my
poverty and twisting every little nonsense
till it cried truth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem