The Pig Poem by Charles Ducal
The Pig
The pig lives on the other side
of love, low
to the ground of our loneliness.
It lays itself down lets itself be bitten
as the flesh that laughs
in our most secret of dreams.
It roots in muck and at a trot
the language that we
write with our hands washed.
If one of us were to lose his head,
we'd cry, the both of us,
as though possessed.
Translated by Willem Groenewegen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/29/2024 6:22:51 PM # 1.0.0.1119
