Oh burning patina of her eyes is full of capitalism,
Or full of the bull rushes her legs give to her
Privateering husband in the trailer park of
Their night:
How many times don’t they strike out into one another
Like dry wood falling into a massacre of sharp toothed
Mica beside the fast running river
Where the sepia colored mountain lion is also praying;
And I screamed like a cat robbing a train,
Because I wanted her:
I tore off all my clothes underneath the mountain and ran
Through the wildflowers just as sharp as a
Kindergarten of switchblades until I grew faint and
Gave into the occult knowledge in the
Country of stones:
So when I finally awakened I began to trade objects of
Sorcery underneath the overpasses in heavy weather,
Knowing that she would come this way after her
Shift was over:
And that she would have to get by me to return to the great
Unmowed patriotism she was accustomed to;
And I wept for her children while I waited for her
Holding the fetishes in her name,
And knowing that none of us really cared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem