gothic solitude
when the blue strings
are like getting light
over one sunsets
I have my dirty hands
unse my livid eyelids and
I float drifting
over the water of Jordan
with bats in claws
I feel only the supressed memories
when I twist them under
the shape of a stitch in my thought
there under a the stronghold
where
are gathered
all the clouds of ash
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem