Do the dead hide behind Monet's flowers
Basking in dark closets
Wanting to whisper in moldy shadows
Do you feel that balmy air
Night checks you out
Like a spider on a mirror
On the filthy edges
Evil erections
Wet like a grin from beneath
How I love the moonlight
Old antiques crying
Moaning like a dead cats scratching post
Do you ever feel evil
Where did you get that silver bracelet
Pantomime like a French graveyard
She shuts the door
It opens by itself
Who's there?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem