vulgo aristocracy, oh vulture
why so scorned? You sit patiently at the roadside
turning your ropey throat
now to the saguaros, now towards us, in our super-speedsters
and whether it's the desert fox - or us - , you
are the edge. And grin.
We're allowed to disengage
turn off the lights. Cut the cord
smooth the mudguards and off we go
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem