in fact,
the mind says
with candidness
about this
matter, or this
mattress
of words sleepy
on the blanket
cozy on the
pillow, same question
is it really poetry?
who knows? who tells you?
keep on running and running
and one asks, is it really
running?
and as you pack your clothes
compact in the bag,
a bottle of water and
a towel,
are you going for a swim?
really? oh really?
i love listening to mojave 3
drifting and
drifting
surfing and surfing
on bigger waves begging for
more bigger waves
having so fun with what we
notice
suddenly everything turns fine
peace and solitude
the people have a chance seeing
us all alive
are we really? really? oh really?
alive?
feel the pulse of my wrist
my temple
or cut my skin
make a door into my world
taste my blood
and kiss my lips
our tongues are fine
wet still with all the love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem