The dry and pinpointed memory
of used up smooth voiced desire
drags me from my shroud of leaden sleep
to coerce 'me'- (languidly slit with a wire) .
My circular self: 'It' watches over itself.
The rasping slumlord of congealed decay;
Must kill 'it' soon, learn deceit games, make murder deft.
May killing Will will itself to death- Here 'I' lay:
Inky black seed caught in trembling soil.
Shifty grains of 'supposed to have occurred',
Perpetuate these fractured cores, destiny in the loin.
By rain by threat by blunt blow, dormant torture cured.
Love's dead dream floating out in tidal taste,
The sting of sea brine in uncrying dry eye,
Soothed by undertow, a wound in sleep layed waste.
The waking vision of Opaque pain- drowned...buried I lie.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem