In a haunting trove -;
there was a synthetic insanity.
I asked the moon
to scan the chest.
Fever was rising.
You eject your eyes in a bowl
of silver to read the
lines of money.
A stark effect overwhelms
the spectrum, like the components
of a booty, to be digested
for deep flaws of society.
I should, if I could
rip open the zipped mouth
of black death to count the
teeth of shrunk questions.
After all it was democracy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem