Are we a flesh
Aria stripped
Candle light fragrant smoke
Shiny makeup in the front row
The subject of the Civil War
Is deposited on the floor
And shimmies back through rows
Like a group sneeze
Then back to the texts of forgetting
A weak mist deposited
On the face of broken rock
And honor strewn temple rubble
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem