Each letter stanzed into paper
violent hammers pumping oil
for hungry machines
bloodstains on sheets
like light baken beefs
and filling the beat
not unlike those teeth
of career suckers
calling their victims losers
as if stained mirrors
never looked into again
never have been looked behind
to solve, to finally evolve
or to revolve, to find......... M
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem