little shimmering lights
mad faceted surfaces
i must have something
in my eyes.
someone
convinces me
everything
improves.
and i know that
soft manic Laughter
who used to reside
at the bottom of murky lakes
bubbling with the excrement
of birds
like a blurred girl, beaten -
hurriedly buried
in heavy fetters,
billows up, now
but
after
this little episode
of escaping restrictions
there shift the bones, still
swooning, with nothing to do but sink
and try to see past the surface -
and the trees they sway
in a stomachbundling way
the sky is murky gray, it shakes
while the clouds they skip and hesitate
my eyes they always deceive me
i always believe what they say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem