200 milliampers rearrange the gray matter and fragments
of a shattered soul,
reeling blindly toward infinity.
I wake tied to my bed with a sheet,
still, lost, lonely and
frightened.
On the nightstand my teeth chant Gloria in Excelsis.
And I see the face of God raging at me
from an empty beer can floating down a rain-filled gutter
in some desserted city where time hangs like an abandoned christ
on a cross of stone.
And life is still a string of empty box cars- no engine, no caboose-
headed down a lonely railroad track,
going nowhere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The gray matter and fragments of a shattered soul are reeling blindly toward infinity. This poem is very brilliantly penned and excellently expressed. Life is still a string of empty box cars. An amazing poem is shared really.10