In the state of instant terror
My soul is enraged by Satan,
His relics are against my hearing
For they sound too sour for my
This waiting room called Earth
Sees me as a man of instant rightness,
Seconds are four-branched
Like the trees,
As they are the many-sided values.
Patient men wait forever,
Dropping off a watery region,
The region called the sea.
This is a hundred bold men,
The army of a too mighty life.
Trees have been space and time,
They echo this minor detail.
Their boughs are the bowels
Of the forest, eating to the full
And drinking to the dozen troops.
Milk has been ingested,
Braying and coaxing is natural,
Huge copses align themselves
Due to crucified men,
Like the fatal aliens of another war.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem