Cadavers on the boisterous road
Hurrying to grandmother’s house, writhing
Across the sound of roses,
And other forms that they are not allowed to have:
Souls stormed from their bodies
Like footless serpents staring up into plum
Trees,
As the heavens pull down waiting to fill some
Mouths with hooks-
Across yards of chartreuse equanimity the
Metamorphosis of the butterflies
Disappear into- the camouflage of the boulder
Removed,
And her shoulders bared but having nowhere
To go-
Trumpets played by blisters, and the nimbus
Hanging down like cobwebs of torn flesh
Over the sea where there is no
Action-
And the cars carry the dead home and into
Meaningless fairytales.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem