Metaphor
muzzles
his mouth stuffing
itself with what he
heedlessly denies
the silence
His work is a gesture
that hews away at itself,
a speechless gashing in
still raw-boned
language
His baroque
strips itself bare
in his reluctance,
every letter is chalked
down
His hunger will rant
down to the bone,
fasting will exhaust itself
unto ashes
and into existence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem