We tiptoe like mice
Holographs of the age of Hegel
Earth conquered by rational order
Math has become a talon
Their burning corpses cremated
Up the tunnel
Running with promethium hearts
Sterile little screws in the new brain
Chaos like a monkey in a cage
Regret sings on every stage
She writes from Central Park
Shot with laser ropes
Tired of the crippled currents
Creatures of the magic pliers
Custody battle with cyborg lawyers
Machines with wounds
Bleeding oil over the Bronx
She tells me of the flying messiah
We listen to Bach
We wonder if the devil has won
She asks me if I am human
Yeah baby I am
She says, good
Do you have pay pal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem