This raw obscenity is
the word most frequently
spoken by American morticians.
A pleasant and balding cyborg,
it dresses always in
clam-shell gray.
Colorless. Odorless. Tasteless.
It signs its name 'John Doe',
and waits for something
or someone to make it whole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem