Flywheels enamel
with heartblood,
aortal ticks hesitate
before the dull bang
of a falling fist,
the fat knuckle
of the next hit,
tick tick the
small ones,
the eaters of dust,
stone-eyed they
fall apart like lost time,
the weights that
regulate all this
are unbalanced.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem