The lack of visitors is uterine
and that is why you porcupine
in this dark corner. Here
who can see the cobra
slither from your lips, spray
the phrases of your mind,
slip back to its moist nest?
Here, who can hear the jeer
of cheetah eyes? "Come, "
they cry, "pour on the light.
Your heart I'll lacerate
with razor fright."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
they cry, pour on the light. Your heart I'll lacerate with razor fright. Very wonderful writing with beautiful imagery. Nice job on sharing.