the blades of the third eye open electric
sleep sits and runs for death
a coffin writes a promise with rich, ruddy dirt
a poet sinks in his eyes and coughs
winds ride the cold shout of crippled prayers
a wolf flows in distant sands
howling white moon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a coffin writes a promise with rich, ruddy dirt- - - - - -> excellent image