She ran like an asylum
drowning in steeples
tripping over drunken planets
that slide like bells in sleeves of balm
Across the flu of vials
stood banks with trampled dust
with a creature who flew with a glitched shrug
and flailed upon the dial of noon.
Tossed inside a canopy of doom
tracing the confused grays through bawling sheets
the craving of a silent host
peels drums in clots that drove.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem