No, not my amatory indiscretions
But the crumbs spilled from God's table.
Egg or chicken?
He made Himself an umlaut and saw that it was good.
The tides convulsed and spat
Men muddy and simpering on the shore.
Nothing nuanced here.
I'm anti everything
and look on all such handiwork
with sedulous derision.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem