Monstrosities needing an uprooting,
Continue appearing in the dead woodbine,
Their scathing and ludicrous disputing,
Out of the edges of any plot line,
A valley Miss Universe intertwined,
With the dregs of pauperism's society,
The subhuman element, of the kind
Full of socially resented anxiety,
Deserving dissection without piety,
For that dejection is not her true north,
Nor the bestowal of such a valkyrie,
In the survival of the fittest war,
The cold bureaucracies of movie star love,
Suggested hurdles for climbing above.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem