everything and everybody
is getting political as
it is and will ever be,
be it in economics, or
poetry and the arts, as
though, for one to survive
one must belong to a pack,
a school, a herd, or even
a line, and the games goes
on an on, carrot to stick,
the art of conditioning,
light inside a box and
a bean seed, spit or pat,
and so here you are, upon
an award and incentive
system.
outside this box, one must
draw four lines to connect
once again, the nine dots.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem