Here we are
despoiling our days
with bad talk,
the nasty things we say.
Here we are
going down on desire,
wanting what we want,
fast-burning fire.
Time's arrow
pointing the way
to final disorder,
and giving no quarter.
There's a price to be paid:
Idiot's parade,
jiggling regression,
primal aggression,
no visible saving light.
Our fade to final black,
in a roiling squall of night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem