In the divine
image
imagine imaging
the self of I
and like a deity
everlastingly in a state
of modifying
try to alter your mind
to suit
the divinities' recreation
with their creations.
I mean don't we have
enough trouble
dealing with our soul
trying still
to enter another's.
The gods
must be artists.
Demented.
They are not poets.
Their ciphered
words
by mortal proxies
are everlastingly
misinterpreted
by the very same.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem