a trail of scurry
as if martins
had flown through the house
voices
pushallthewordstogether
you swing
lampshades
and make it all
film noir
shouts from a
mouth of cloth
so when you are
as empty as a grail
but have no space
you understand
there is no sense
without passion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem