A dream with Peter Lorre
Giving an eerie sign
Through a tiled window pane
That's been trashed
Hearing his voice say
Okey-dokey
While abed with the toaster
As I wave back to him
With a dyed vase
On my stomache
As I opts
This is positively a trip
To a science fiction descent
To an era not adorned
Where a CBer using stylist
In rimed mesh
With her hair-do a pouf
Who heeds prayers of theft
Bawling like a kid
Who been tarred
With memos of rear treads
Looming as the best bet
To a swap
As a teary-eyed Thai
Bare his larnyx
Waking up thinking
It's a sure thing
My java was laced
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem