When the only sounds are the calling of the amorous cats
and the clicking of time’s tiny heels,
my heartbeat makes me stagger
and my breath makes me weave where I lie.
Tonight the sheer soleness of my vulnerability
makes my wrists ache
and causes my soul to bleed.
I am so sad and overwhelmed
by the conspicuity of my infinite strangeness,
that the inevitability of my loneliness
pushes down on me like a black cloud of thunder
Maybe all I need is love,
but maybe I am too ‘unique’ to ever have anything
but oblique solidarity.
Lungs push against ribs,
eyes redden between lids,
blood pulses between skin and bone,
and yet I feel not alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem