The most intimate revelations and plagiaristic suppressions snobbishly suggested a rancid cowardice secreting from the most basic of fundamental decencies.
All the while boasting a tolerance that will be founded on the very last Autumn, the very last the world has been privileged to witness.
A beating human heart gives my dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few lingering successful gestures followed by tracers-something that is blinding and gorgeous, something that is heightened with more sensitivity relating to the complexity and almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake.
This responsiveness with it's flabby impressions that are dignified by tiny little creative temperaments, and seduced by a strong touch of romantic readiness, will never really be matched or even found in the end. Pollinating it's foul dusted particles as they floated in the air following the wake of many tasseled dreams, it closes any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation's of men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem