Tasting wines of hidden ideas as they ferment in back
closets of my mind.
Sensing an aptitude of intensity creeping upon me,
spreading like wild fire into all categories of
subconsciousness.
Living on edges of perforated nature, building
blocs of spaciousness within, housing literary tomes
in imaginational mountainous plains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem