When my poem
zeroes in, on the full moon,
I jump the blues.
Wanted to have a
meme of alt-left
pain in chest, leaning on
old tricks.
Wordless trivia,
eats the logic. The vacuum
always fills you up with
new thoughts.
Moon writes itself,
his story in dark. I
will catch the fireflies,
put them in matchbox― to
celebrate my childhood.
Sometimes you feel better
when the past matters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem