A slow drink
A pillow unturned for a while,
maybe a little too long
A portrait of a sad girl I
have never met
All tomorrow's clothes, set up
neatly among, above the wreckage
A rusted coin of 6 flip sides
(and aren't B-sides a lonely commodity?)
An empty bookshelf, overloaded
with books
A dream, weaving itself from an armchair,
that becomes a wheelchair
A wall of cobweb and white
A lullaby
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem