My father is language; my mother speech
and I am many words, yet
when I talk to you there are commas,
a phrase turning with a semicolon, a dash -
so, well, and, maybe, the conjunctive of tears.
Our coffee has cooled.
The first snow outside; late this year.
When it comes to semi-colons; I need a colonoscopy, Where to put the road signs Remins a mystery; For I have tunnel vision As regards the rules of the road I'm wracked by indecision My sentences explode.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
conjunctivitis? ? ? better get to a doctor! i like this though i don't claim to understand it. thanks. bri