Boil some water and fetch my tools
Then seat yourself beneath the ether cone
Operation anesthetic amputation
Dream away your memebers for a minute
And I'll remove them one by one with
The electric carving knife
In my mother's kitchen
Pile them high on the theatre floor
Burry them in saw dust, deny their existence
The constituents of an exodus
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem