Unequitable with practicality—abandoning the major highways,
And practice this craft in the woods—
Underneath and wetted by the lactates of mountains—
Rejoining the motherly void—habitats of lights without
Tongues—
Fluted throats that call for love wildly passionate—
More unrequited than the perfect choice of words—
Clouds billowing like an imaginary fire stoked by the lust of
The gods—
Rams' skulls and arrowheads diademing and glittering
Upon the apex—
Almost leaving this world, starving in one afternoon's
Ferality—
Earning no money but needing no possessions—
Proof of which they will blind all of the others not to see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem