
My anxiety poem
I write a poem today
it will die tomorrow.
It rises on its shivering feet
of words
it catches my attention and pulse
as a living creature
in another century
- higher,
unborn -
and rises up, upper and upper,
from my pricked shoulders
by its claws of sense.
I touch, as I can with its fingers
the nothingness.
Who wins?
And who is defeated?
Poems for those who read in silence, 2009
RightWords Translation