Mute the high pitch'd DJ music
And watch each Dancer licking a role
It's hysterical and hilarious.
So is our performance
Throwing out legs and hands
Clapping overhead
Lots of spinning and reverse turn
Bounced offpad to reach through the groove
And pointing it's that way, ‘out'.
Album of rocking rat race
All relax lost, but not pace
Still gesturing to the pull of self-love and excess.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem