His Minister of Interior is Desperation
The center of gravity
floats freely in the body enlarged with mourning
should it lean toward you
to confide a few sentences mulled over for days
there is a danger you’d be smashed
the face – an ancient Greek mask
the mouth – the mathematical sign of infinity
Author: Marin Bodakov
Translator: Katerina Stoykova
3 thoughts on "His Minister of Interior is Desperation"
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Love the title, the simplicity, and all the layers of this poem!
wonderful poem
What a title! This poem surprises me–that last couplet is gold.