(Song of Lunacy)

The itchy hand

Seeks a face to award a tattoo of spread fingers.

Frowning slaps shall rush forth
Like the blind anger of a mad cow:

Let the face tear and rip into pieces

Like a book flogged by the watery canes of rain.

We need a dance of lunacy

Since we already have our songs of madness

Overtaking the rickety bus of our society

On the wavy road of golden potholes…
Play us the drums of the crazy land

And we will do the dance of insanity

Like the lazy wand of dubious magicians:

Kpat!  Tkpat! Kpat! Tkpat! Kpat! Tkpat!
This is the verse

Where sense runs helter-skelter

With calm confusion,

Yet nonsense raises its nose

With scarred clarity.
This is the verse of the lunatic land,

The verse of the itchy hand,

Seeking to award a tattoo of fingers

On the face of the rats

Eating away the famished heritage of our senses…
YUA ‘18

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