Authenticity is too prickly for my extravagant personality.
I wounded up residing with my mademoiselle
a huge gray-blue bird lingering towards the embellishments
from the ceiling and wearisomely dragging my wings
through the embers of the dusk and twilight.
At the foot of the canopy supporting its adored ornaments
and his phenomenal masterpieces, I was a big grizzly
with Prussian blue gums, with ashen fur from afflictions
viewing silver and crystal assuages.
Everything became shade and an impassioned aquarium.
In the morning, - like a pugnacious dawn in June, -
like a donkey, I rushed into the pastures,
neighing and brandishing my grievance,
until the countermeasure of women from the periphery
arrived and hurled himself on my neck.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem