Sunday, September 2, 2012

I missed my calling.

For one of my classes, we're supposed to translate poems from Spanish to English without looking it up. Here it is. From what I understand of poetry, I should be getting an award for this any time now.


I Fly

Alcove see, brother or die, live,
since, when no live
here bushel, bushels,
enter foot and ocean,
at the porcelain light
of the SPAM.
Here bushel bushels,
because here flies sin, decides nothing,
sin wants, sin mouth, pure,
here flies to Mr. Movement
of the water, of
on the salivating horizon,
here stars lost and encountered:
here was tall vase, lost and silent.


The Deacon


What meter wants that i don’t know
and is easy coma Lego
sin Rambo, taco and a brain, enter and mire
the retreats of yesterday in the parades,
the commodore of death and the brother
the silicone, the Camas, the salaries,
only entrances understand
that all don’t know me.
Shallow don’t see that calls want a peace sign,
no how many brothers become so called
troubadours of diverse razors
of emulating insufficiencies.

No comments:

Post a Comment