awaiting that yellow bird
i settle like marine snow
ardorous, flat-on-my-face
twelve days
is the pulley restraining infalliable truth
that wants to jump past lips and into ears
my being locks into your skin
packing myself tight into each delicate roadway
of veins and arteries
a longing to be the molecules of carbon dioxide
expelled with each and every staggering breath
there is no need to slip a band over your beak
there is no need to clip the flight feathers
beneath your butter-colored wings
i am the one who will peck at your insides
i am the one who will scatter in a squall of frightened cries
and a panicked flurry of flight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you write like this, you convince.. you are the one who will.... if you want feedback on this poem, just hear this voice repeating, 'outstanding'! Greyscale unsettles me more deeply, though.... this unsettles beautifully.