This is just dumb truth:
Australian pines have no roots, and I don’t
Have you:
Used to bicycle all in summer back and forth
While the lions roar,
While the teachers taught their stuff,
I had no muse but the whore;
I went back behind her house and in her canal
Reticulated,
Masturbated in her stuff and thus was marmaladed;
And the canal went a ways back and dissected
The hemisphere,
And I always thought of the edge of the world as
That torpid green ribbon;
And now I am not a success, and yet I still have
Plenty of money for my dear;
And I want to buy somebody flowers. I want to
Climb high enough to feed the giraffes:
I want to ride the Ferris Wheel up to your extremely
Junoesque neck where you’ve been practicing,
All the way up to show you how butch I am,
Flexing my sailors anchors two by two
Where your eyes are emoting like chimps at a zoo,
And make real good love to myself in the open
Spaces before their senses,
Because they are so wide and bright like the minds of
Elephants that I could hardly think they would find
Room to move;
And anyways would I be as luxurious as white mice
Scavenging at a carnival, telling her she was so
Dangerously beautiful,
Making her too scared to move.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem