we are
a compilation
of skin, the bed bugs
in the hair, our teeth
rattling on words, the
stomach full of
disrepair, birds
chew rocks, I chew
what the mind can’t
fathom, in itself
digest the words
you won’t feel it
during, after, ten
years from now
only you at the
table with a pen
picking your teeth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem