what's enough?
I don't think I have a line,
that's worth all that,
a line that purely,
identifies the moment
that I live...
I have never struck
my heart so hard,
to feel it - implode,
or truly turn back on itself,
I am as fake as the world
of faces, before we were made,
but to get beyond this,
I can only alter, the space
of skin beneath my hair,
looking out vast,
to know that everything is replicating
and repeating,
and change, means little at all!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem