Your museum of disease pours into me
Shrinking me out of distortion
Bending me into proportion,
My growths and tumors are draining
Everything leaks.
The body of my being is something I never thought it could be.
Ribs break through skin and flesh blends into backgrounds
like sun on morning sky.
6-3-05
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem