has hair like diseased corn.
Yesterday she supposed: “Goodness, like fruit,
should not be so expensive, since our labor is so cheap. ”
Now her brazen-eyed barbwire voice scolds:
“You killed him wrong.
“You gotta slug ‘em with a sledgehammer, smack 'em
right in the chi - smooth, slick - stupefy ‘em quick
then slit the throat before they squeal themselves satanic.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Raw bloodthirst, pure libido! :)