Those I know
who don't 'clock-in'
that doodle or dream
at home within
whipped cream worlds
where words engage
slippery minds with stretched
canvas
or pristine page,
they float
across the rooms
and parking lots
and crowded streets
and stand in lines
that take too long
and they keep breathing
way down deep
as if
no clock
had ever
ticked
at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Superb, beautifully described. You really struck a chord with me there. Esra Sloblock