Bent with dolls that inhale the season
carrier of God's thumb;
fleets of nerves peel dreams from seeds
while spinning under my crumbs
Across she flung now inside the jury
folding in on her gun
Posture of the costumed hex leans on the gesture
as I sketch the limbs of the sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem