Tangling myself into weeds of tantamount jungles of words, testing every sound on beats in measures to forward positions into legal status, taking turns around the clock, poking about, over pages in books, written by myself for posterity.
Afterwards, sending messaged codes towards bill boards of intelligence and wisdom.
Sounding off with little or no effort on my part.
Tinging every tone with rhythms of my own, alone on shores of earth on days of unending bliss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem