Please don't anyone ruin that enigma
of the eternal pamphleteer,
whose place in reality is somewhat unclear.
She offers out vibrant slips with a Σ
slap bang in the middle,
alongside an eerily converse plumbago
drawing, exposed dark side, inverse imago,
that old hammer and sickle
business again, gets the old guard
jumpy as hell, whips up curiosity
like complex price point elasticity,
bamboozles economists, jarred
violently by instantaneous
shifts in perception, like dehazing
a mirror, the resemblance amazing
though warped in half, a Sagittarius,
split in two, human or recognised
as such, yet bestial too, deconstructed
and now, through dark coercion, instructed
to spoon-mirror supernova, potency circumcised
before discovered, a punning headline in bold,
cheap, dirty, cast-away and detrital,
discarded and forgotten, except in careful recital,
held just as close as any myth so old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem