A raging hunger
is how I like to think of it,
For when it comes,
it's no holds barred,
I can't control the world
for it,
Like my breast filling
up with woe,
in a great big whirling
basin,
And the dragons in my
blood chasing mad fire,
Or some drowning innocent,
along a bay of hot frothy milk,
Or waiting for that secret sly
piranha of smell to attack,
the senses,
Hovering before a very small
particle or crevice,
Of what is even private
beyond the self,
Somewhere deep in there,
the molecule implores,
Like a strange new flower,
And the scent naked,
opens up like a big moist door,
leading out...
into a mind of somewhere else
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem