Excerpts from
The Risperdal Sonnets
By Simon Grotrian
My ball-point pen flies and loses a bomb
when the clouds tear free of one another
risen glide, till the earth is hollow.
Dear friend, with our foam for stockings
we look up
embarrassed as you are
you want to pull at the rainbow
stick your neck through and you rescue
the tormented from popping springs
the thunder knocks at the door
back here in the world with wheelchair, praised you.
Ships are the Lord's shoes
invisible he walks about in them
we applaud his superstar dust.
Translated by David McDuff
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