The super sub-particle camel rags float in hoards toward my head.
And I am expecting a license to engage in a duel with these clouds
of moccasin sheep before the eventual Armageddon of
businessmen eat the custardy benefits of same-sex partnerships before speaking silent monologues in the box in the corner of
Maple Street.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem