Lately, I've had much to do.
My boring days are surely through.
My actions pouring from my thoughts
bring ample obligations bought.
My innocence, away it went,
pushed out of sight by my dissent
from poor peoples, inferior,
who's vice I can't take any more.
Finally, art is meeting numbers.
Now I can dress up my blunders.
What my mother still won't see:
Salvia's world awaiting me
with promise of transcendent travels
always leaving me befuddled.
Now I have to go to sleep.
I'd much rather be counting sheep.
(07/06/09)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem