Divine religion needs arms and fingers
and a wet crack. No! Not that one.
The ones in the walls of the high rises.
The weather is humid over the Hudson River.
My sap will not hold and my Chinese is limp.
Instead of riding a limousine, Tsing Tao rides
in a bamboo canoe and finds a fish up 5th Ave
who discovered the secret of the perfect float.
I tried it but only Chinese fish swim belly up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem