Every time I flip
the page of this
book:
‘Brave New World’
the
preceding page
fades into
the shadow world.
How do we
know that the page
beneath this page
exists?
I turn the page again,
the
cherub-rock shoots.
Another
khaki child’s page
is read and
disposed of,
flicked
and
transposed.
Mary X.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
adjectives are daring. 'khaki child.' thought this ending was weak, tho. i don't know what to do; i just wanted more of a summation. also, transpose and traipse are a couple of my fave verbs used by vous.