poetry is
sawdust
after you have
sewn wood
it is what
you throw after
you peel
it is the settling
of sand
that you pour
upon a glass of
water
something that i
draw wildly
upon an empty canvass
with paints
whirling and
squirting
confetti during
a revolution somewhere
in manila
after the
dictator left.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem