I will pick up the dust in
a swift scoop-from where
the stars fell and step out,
of the shadows of light.
A détente begins, between
the limbs and eyes, to hold
in check the flames
licking the doors.
How far was the moon
beyond the money's reach? The
man has bared the―
earth's womb, with skulls questioning.
The sucked out blue lake
runs for the shade of wandering
clouds. We divide the thick
silence with unspoken abuses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We hurtle through days and nights. Breathlessly clinging to the firmament that should not want to throw us off. That can't desire our demise. An orb as imperfect as an eye. The camera obscures the world and turns it all upside-down. I stand on my head and send salt into the soil.