The opposite coat was the only coat to dress yourself,
It bore marks of distinction, arms lost in the body of your suit.
My square hat acted like the contraption of a higher cult,
Its jaws majestically appalled, your mouth was my act.
I was grim that day, when the coat dressed itself with sleep,
Yards of silk collected into a well of sadness, like motherhood.
Where the bullet flew, I only knew, its green flurry astounded throwing,
The coat was a proof of a professor, my only electromagnetic art.
This scientific man was a dressing of wounds, offering me old words,
With new actions and with new plays, little playwrights were exempted.
I wore the coat of disaster, in the ballroom of my display, like a virgin
Who rode the donkey's conjecture, warning others in the whole message.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem