gargling to many buttons in my larynx
causes me to cough and curse.
now silly sullen sadness sought
something similar, tongue tied the
fingers are all that remain.
bury a white orchard sheet in blue
plum ink.
genocide every letter under a lamp
in the late evening.
create my own unknown condition
and form a slightly beatiful madness.
search for my messiah on the internet,
then page down and scroll lock a doctrine
of acronymns.
become a ten key diciple and sing a few
cap locked hymns.
maybe turn a few wax coated fingerprints
into a voice, then hit print.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem