But better speak about sorrows
Of the flesh and the evil man
That existed in the bird’s nest
Of one’s cerebrum, littered
With child’s feathers and twigs
When you are the evil man
And he is you, nestled safely there,
Waiting for a carcass of lost thing
A misery, a disease he preys on.
Behind the wall the sound had come
Of illogic and helplessness, in bed
And in the insecurity of the bathroom.
Then she laughed her eyes slanting
Your air was self-important, sure.
It was at life she was laughing.
Now at you, in crinkled eyes,
From behind the mask of unreality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem