Poems enter the area of squares,
The squares are computers of the circus,
But buttons melt in odd shapes,
As the family of the now returning
Machines enforce the hazards.
The poverty of poetry is immense,
Its floodlights make you despair,
As the fountain of yellow eyes
Erupts like volcanic lava of generations
Melting in the folds of humanity.
I have poets on the roll of the dice,
Flowers seem to be their mammals,
Trees are called dinosaurs and monsters
That drag into the sun on all fours,
Like the divine chase of robots in outer-lands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting poem. I like it. Enjoyed the creative images you employed. I was drawn to the title because I have a poem with the same title. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.