I AM NOT A NATIVE OF THIS PLACE by Jerome Rothenberg
I am not a native of this palce.(Yosimasu G.) nor yet a stranger. With the rst of you I hunt for shade my boots half off to let the air through. My head is on my shoulders & is real. I plant cucumbers twice a year & count the bounty. Often I read the papers standing. I am clean & pure. I carry buckets from the pond more than my arms can bear. Under a full moon fish appear like flies in amber. The words of foreigners invade my thoughts. The hungry hordes surround me wailing through their beards. My fingers tingle feigning speech. I havea a feeling that my tongue speaks words because my throat keeps burning.
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