HE checks his breath for stink,
finds a tast of smoke, and blue
burbon, wets his hair with spit,
combs his hair back with his
fingers, then ties it into a knot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
GRAPHIC TO AN IMAGED POINT...SHORT BUT IMPACTING...ALMOST LIKE A COLORFULL PIECE OF PROSEWORK...10...''''''''''''''''''''''''''FRANK