Running into a den of iniquity, becoming a part of inconceivable
masses, as life continues to penetrate beaten paths towards aspects set in other dimensions.
Atmospheres saturate any and all divergent avenues appearing before
me in apprehensive visions.
Gathering lonely memories and pasting them temporarily in books of
poetry.
Knowing that just one moment later they will be gone and remembered
in another way, being placed again in some other vision of poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem