Turning over your
signature page, holding
your poem in nude.
What else was needed
to commit a sin of god
when you go insane.
The snare was made of
gold, glittering like panther.
You hide under moon!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Which day was it when the curtains of vision were unfurled? Had the mongoose said goodbye yet to the lemming? I remember the lemons were yellow from the very beginning.