Back door balconies
Eating brains
Here we are again
Bloodshot eyes
Cushions of desire
We can’t get up
Radio pictures
Lost printers
Forgotten morals
Buddha mountains
Drinking your water
Empty stomachs
You feel it
We want to be the hate
And leek out love’s face.
With every small knit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem