«I don't need much! / A crust of bread, / a cup of milk, / the sky above / and these clouds!»
«The sticky sky smells blue-gray, it's the odor of udder. / Show me some loving, be good to me! / I am bleeding. You are my fatality. / I am nailed up to die on an old empty tree.»
«The moon begins to flow — / reveals herself, / conceals herself, / then somebody squeals: oh! / and disintegrates the sky. / Gloss-face drapes herself / in a chorus of clouds. / Bread's set out on the table. Soup's on. / They say a naked woman / is beautiful by moonlight. / Rou...»
«But your glance is pale, horse-eye pale, / silvered with a bluish streak. / Your hair is all tangled. Shadows of vice / weave a dazzling design. Oh, young men! Happy the man / who has never known passion's fire, / for he knows stars unseen by you / in the dark blue steep of the sky.»