Tabling constellations of fruit: if she doesn’t
Love me,
I want to move to Mexico and become drunkenly in front
Of her sister:
I want to forget all of the promises and lies that my
Colloquial tongue has told me
With the airplanes shooting above the vinegars and salt mines:
The days bereaving the children of existence:
My art failing as all is given up into closing time-
The efforts of my body’s ululating remaining fallen into the
Grasses after the doors of new mothers have closed;
And the traffic is all returned; the Christmas trees are
Sparkling
With silver clouds, the green snakes remaining entwined
Serendipitously until every last member of the family is
Called out from hiding.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem