Not enough liquor to write more than one or
Two poems halfway—ruining the antiquarian niceties
Of my obvious failures—
Pleasures that drift with the memories of
Kindergarten—
Lock doors that no longer belong to any
Discernable rooms—
Canals smoothed over by roads
And coral snakes with their once-dangerous
Colors re-arranged
Now that they have fully become the places
That we already know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem