a clearing in woods near my sidekick
remains,
dry stocks in plunging likeness:
he smiles
like the last time its going to happen.
behind eyeballs
something soluble
burst as cameras wince:
this is getting ugly...
it reminds one how to dress.
the way a man falls from the sky,
lands at a meeting
in business casual
and still has time to
hit on the receptionist.
He's a god-send.
Let's make him our leader.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem