They were the word 'pink' made flesh.
If eyes spat rays, no armour could have saved them.
Gored in the spotlight, they would twitch and lie,
A mound of ripe, contaminated meat.
'Tis we who strip, leaving first
Our eyelids with the overcoats;
Then, with champagne frothing in the mouth,
Discard our civic surprise;
Sated and glazed at last, surrender
The bareness of a tired spirit.
The naked are the void.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
civic surprise, really good writing.