See the agar when in bloom in the petri dish,
My anger is my certainty for the suzerains,
Those bigger brighter few whose misery is make-believe.
To beleaguer the few is to be a philosophical candidate,
But the full professors remake the logic of our lectures.
A beggar speaks to many of the thieves,
Some bootlegger boasts of his profit
Like a worn-out man whose reputation subsumes
The group of men in agony,
Like bragging and wagging the tail.
Lagers drunk, we are all drunkards in this game
Of cliched life, life absorbs the presumptions like dusts.
Let mug after mug be taken down, that consumption
Is the best there is in this union of unions.
Life enters other lives until each begets the other,
For lagers are taken down or drained forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem