Once, the starry skies are obliterated by dozens of magazines
So much fired by the irate soldiers transfixed in laughter;
These holes may be defined with ancestry, agreeing
Like the mainstream faiths, airy haunted zones.
My allegories speak to the suzerains, and the springs
That chase the summers for kindness.
My ancillary staff are upon me, little has been defined,
But my adversary bespeaks as the evening declines
The invitation to perform what is best in life.
Shall the anticipation be overwhelming in the dreams?
Or will my upset head and mind and torso be budged?
The stray cats are let loose with vengeance,
So that foxes taste their wit with the summers and springs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem