I am post impressionist by birth
modernist with growth
whatever that means
enchanted by the blue and rose
Picassoed, I reached out
and cubistic bound
kept rolling and Dali
surrealized my being
seeing how distorted it can be
I crept through Henry moore
and Eschered
floating back again to Dali
impotent sex maniac
at least he could dream
post-modernism passed me by
I'm scared of fundamentalism
which when outdated
I know for sure will start
a new impressionism
I get dizzy on this merry go-round
it makes me so histhorrified
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem