Cocked his stuff, blew it up
weighed blood by pints.
smirked for who kissed the sod;
the dead's Prada is smudged.
Checks injured old feelings,
now beaming with content,
for such an old thirst quenched?
Is the bossy anger diffused,
Or like some stubborn scars stick?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Cocked his stuff, blew it up/ ... youre so progressive without being pretentious. keep on, Sus.