akin to a spate of prognostication
a company of flints, locked....
a barrel of staves, de-coopered....
the shed that keeps the varmints from the garbage cans...?
no...
that
was a construction based
on a principle called de-kooning.....
though
something whimsically scarifying to them, say, calderish, would've
been more fun........
you wiggle your finger at me....
I collapse, rolling....
....breathless...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Quite powerful here, yes.