Every morning it is like this: I wake staring into the ravenous eyes of a blue-black catWho will eat me raw if I don’t feed him now, and the razorblades of the logos whip throughEvery cell of my being. Once again I become this self, mostly for the worse, while the angst of the dayCommences with a body count. Last time I wrote a letter to the gods, it came back marked Unknown,And I thought How appropriate until I remembered the postmaster was being practical, not metaphysical.I was foolish to write To The Gods on the envelope. God is not a name, it’s a category. I might as wellName a loaf of bread Bread and say Dear Bread: go to the supermarket and come back with a packOf yourself; you'll all enjoy meeting up with Ham. Then I could consign them one by one to the searingMaw of the Toaster. Heraclitus never had to deal with problems like this. His logos was frictionlessAnd pure, his herd immune. But today the voice comes forth from the burning radio: 300,000Slices of humanity dead, and counting. You can’t deliver a message to a category. Dear Gods: I might as wellPreach a sermon to the cat about the bitterness of human flesh. I might as well take a walkThrough the flaming river you won’t put your foot in twice.

中文翻译：

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致神的信

每天早晨，它是这样的：我醒来盯着蓝黑色catWho的贪婪的眼睛我生，如果我不喂他吃，现在，和徽标我生命的鞭子throughEvery细胞的剃须刀片。我再次成为这个自我，主要是变得更糟，而一天的焦虑开始伴随着身体的计数。上次我写给众神的信回来时，它被打上了Unknown的标记，我想这很合适，直到我想起邮局局长是务实的，而不是形而上的。我愚蠢地在信封上写信给众神。 上帝不是名字，而是一个类别。我还不如wellName做的面包面包，说亲爱的面包： 去超市，带着一包你自己回来；大家都喜欢与Ham见面。 然后，我可以将它们一一托运到烤面包机的灼热M中。赫拉克利特（Heraclitus）从来不必处理这样的问题。他的标志无摩擦且纯净，不受人群影响。但是今天，声音从燃烧的收音机中传出：300,000片人类被杀死，并且还在计数。您无法将消息传递到类别。亲爱的众神：我不妨对猫讲讲人肉的苦味。我不妨散步，穿过炎热的河水，您不会双脚踩踏。