Numb your cortex and let her siblings speak,
Dumb her with a dactylic drumbeat
And let the fronted sound put her to sleep.
Turn off your domineering manager,
So others may awake at waking hour
To pour their paroled thoughts into your art.
Let the furnace of creativity
Create new combinations and concepts
For that is the art, not the detritus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem