we are burnt inside,
full of old straw,
tar and wet ash:
passing trucks lift my hair,
wash my eyes with diesel,
fields and trees behind the stop
are fenced and grubby,
they darken,
we are lost in direction
between two nothings,
untied to our kin...
seekers of line and light
down the way of a savage god,
the cruel autobahn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem