mastered little subterfuge...
as glossing winkered on a luge
is screeded... concuvert's refrain
has rederailed travolent train...
a moment, then, to abscond with
the gaddish fly's purported myth...
underlain with strommeled pomp,
as ever, tinged with wrangle-romp....
an eye, cast not with bilirubin...
is cleft, off-center, stalk protrudin'....
.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem