As I pass you all
on Oxford Street
and see
that vacant
nine-to-five look
already back in your eyes
even before the
blood
in the tunnels
beneath our feet
has dried
it occurs to me
that we are all
doomed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a hard vision scrapes the eyes but clear seeing is of great values going down into the pit there'sa smile on the face so some good at least a fine poem