You could say I’ve recovered some fragile momentum
But lost all composure
I’ve gathered a would be style about me
But lost all poise
I’ll stagger at twelve
Collect myself for one
It all seems to happen subconsciously
As if for fun
Another funny thing
This could be at thirteen, twenty one, twenty eight, thirty nine, forty eight
Incorrigible it seems
Perhaps I’m key to some orbiting comet’s trajectory
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem