Since those ten ways I have trekked
To forget you
Bowed to your routing face, old
Memories - impetuous mice, have sniffed
Me out - the dead
Wall of flesh against their access
To the senses. My eyes - their gateways
Squeak open in
Panic, banged, as they pour into me -
Cold waves down a valley of wool. They
Pour my sleep into cups
At table, blue notes spattering on the
Fabric of my thoughts, as they toast to
Your mouth - the cup,
They say, that poured chilled bottles
Of words into the Heart - the ears yet
Unwet. And in
Harsher tones than the midnight famine
Asks about meat, they ask about you
Wondering the absence of
Sense riots since you walked out my door.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem