1
O torturing fakir conscience
vague hellish tattoo needle
outlining a distant roaring blot
inking the unknown as injected veins
clear up for X-rays to see
feeling each lousy sting
piercing and coloring spirit stuff
2
the dashing blot appears
taking form as a charcoal cougar
eating at my guilt
devouring every gold leaf
templar feeling I have
3
Leaving me barely a doodling stick
man
navigating this figurine on a empty desert
page that smells of pang
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem