The folder’s clips left open
On the pages of the day,
Freeing hooves
Of shoes
And pace,
Until all retire frayed.
Wild hyena spiders
In the creases of the room,
Behind TV,
Settee,
Bookcase,
Brazen in the evening’s bloom.
Spineless in retiring
To the bowels of the house,
With loose quilted
Guilty
Feelings,
Undone by desire’s mouth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem