of thems
that must be
laundered....
waxing, whilst gibbous...
fractures of the crucible under the stair...
......never mind the ones rhapsodizing in the ballroom...they'll wait....
lingering torcheres, blunt-swaddled in bluefly drones...
some, not all, of the taxidermist's donations to the caudal regency...
.......those violet studies....beautifully withering...almost
afraid to touch them....
the pinking shears of altruism....rust remover...just a thought....enough, for now
enough....... for now....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem