the ghosts are powerful and
the wind is strong, smelling of
bittersweet and foul nostalgia with
musky half-translucent eyesores
pulling, pulling, to the beginning
like today’s rivers flowing drenching
you in what is, love? ,
lust, and lack of resistance on
the flexing hips of the world to find a
place in confusion and truth
rolling, rolling, to the
goals and ghouls of what is to
come, trepidation and aspiration
as to…
comparisons are not enough
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem