Those who have strayed from the fountain in the green field,
go to have coffee, and watch the moving clouds in peshawar where thy can be annointed by the brahma prophet of the ancient rites and postures, the good one.
the others stand in the wind till sacred venus comes like a cascade.
the rest are slaves
some follow tutenkhamon, he of the full belly
ye has the keys to the best club the orifice club
the rest of the flock, are led by pan, number 1 th atom in the infinite blue, the original torrent of originality which has spoken at length to the winter foam, and we go to the green field with flowers exotic ones, me and her and loves gohst
the rest go to the white bridge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem