Passing between The Slaves of Glory
Tabernacle and the vast, last fast-food
outlet, still considering
the irredeemability of Man,
I, who only twice brought stinking beggars home
and have aspired to kiss the sores
of dogs, felt the packaged-stupid
God put his product in my mouth
And in that little
delivered-moment of God’s fun
I recognised the dark side of the moon
to be humanity,
and consciousness to be
the dark side of the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem