Amnesia Poem by Mark Heathcote
Amnesia
I'm searching for the source of this molten moonlight
and my memory is leaking like a bucket in the slaughterhouse
like a blue and white tin jug of unpasteurized milk.
Is that reflection, reflecting-back-at me?
Is it really - really - really-me?
My brain is somehow now a greyish crater.
All the edges blur, falling in
-here is my molten moonlight come flooding back to me
so bright I can longer see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 7:15:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The longer observation clarifies that here is your molten moonlight that comes flooding back to you so brightly. You have interestingly presented your thought. A brilliant poem is penned...10