With a broken face, 
and a blind eye
four Latino strangers
pounded on me last night, 
I have had my dose
of anger and hate
and still I think of her, 
her to whom i couldn't
profess a mutter, 
her regretting ever liking this 
sad sad
masochist drunkard
roaming this land, 
because his liver
was hopelessly trying 
to keep up
on a crusade for near life
experiences.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
booze always a thrill a woman always a thrill and if there's a bit of trouble at least a delicious poem erupted good work