L Poem by Uljana Wolf
L
in my throat there sits a lump that clumps every lay into a lie. if i cry out: it's he who lies, not i, he gleefully loads a log upon my tongue, young man, i grumble, i grow weary of this fun, whereupon he: as do i. falling silent then, i know he'll go on laying snares, taking every last clearing of the throat as a start—and should he not?—that'll end a poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
8/13/2026 8:24:01 PM # rel_20260811T123139Z_a98d49b
