An album sits on a table
Fingers walk through it
Pages turn, Photos
And Photos; photos
More photos
Different in size
Different colors
Different faces
All sharing a lot
A child with curly hair smiles wide
First page
A man to the right, woman to left
Second page
And it goes on and on and on
Hair forms and beards
Or sideburns
Ties, scarves and colors
Repeat in cycle; cycle, cycle
Then the end, the last page
Or almost the last
Amazon, Africa, Islands in Far East
Nude photos; reads “Cycle, cycle, cycle”
Inside cover at the end
Postcard says: “We”
“We live in cycle”
“All come nude,
Reject nudity, (For faith or beauty)
But die nude, are buried nude.”
What is Fashion?
What is the fuss?
On
I am rich, you are not…I do have you do not…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem