O we surf across
The chaos of junk culture
Without any sense
Of direction! Love's merely
A crude exchange of
Primal fluids. Agendas
Of nothingness are
Killing us. Anything goes.
The cold, blue angels
And rabid dogs of decay
Dance and drink till dawn.
They wish to drown their sorrows.
For the future is
Now a chasm: year zero.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem