I've been getting
ready for thirty years,
and I got this extra
shiny one, right here in
my tight denim pocket...
You rub it all the time,
til it dumbfounds you?
Haunting places
where thoughts
like to go for walkies,
He must've came up
here,
while she sneezed up
a memoir or two,
I don't want to think
thoughts that I don't got,
they're mine, but she's good!
You can't just wait
for something like
that to happen....
I mean would you cut
your own head off,
just for beauty?
Because you do want
them to bleed,
don't you?
But there's nothing
more frustrating,
than taking them out
all the time;
As one day shivers
into the next,
and out of the corner
or your eye,
or is it inside...
something lifts you
closer to the Sun;
And your burning out,
oh! yeah! fast...
cause the end is coming
to get you,
And you it....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem