All roads leading to destinations
travel back confused but in a restful way.
Copyrights always reverting to the
author
and man is not a commodity itself.
Here is the body naked and the mutilated moon outcast its
shadows all over.
The bones,
the fleshes red and bright
the convoluted thoughts
soft and creamy
the gall,
liver,
pancreas,
lungs filled with hopes and sighs-
pieces all together fastening
an orchestra of sounds.
The soul returning to its nest and symphony neatly
measured.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wonderful poem dear, Quaid. Read my poem, Love and L u s t. Thanks.