Dribbling days hoodwink
our suspect one-man defense,
words shadow-box with figures
on the computer screen,
graphic colors skim by...
These are the humdrum horrors
of a hijacked day
in search of bread, when
our brains bubble with bits- -
does the mind remain
in the armpits?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem