«A German machinegunner will shoot me in the road, or / An incendiary bomb will break my legs, or An SS-kid will give me a bullet in the gut. / In any case, on this front, they’ve got me covered. Without my name, or glory, or even boots, / With frozen eyes I’ll gaze at the snow, blood-col...»
«The Lethe’s wind is blowing over me / With anodyne and slow beatitude. / “Where should I with such a muteness be, / When the perfection is so blind and rude.” Being exhausted, deathly granite grows / Silent and cold over the darkling water / “It’s time, my friend. The city sadl...»
«A chart of living daubed I, quickly, / the paint from jam jar did I splatter; / I fingered plate of aspic, sickly / with curving prows through ocean water. / In scale of pickled herringed letter — / a proclamation from new lips. / And you / a nocturne could / ...»
«I blurred at once the map of humdrum, / by splashing colours like a potion; / I showed upon the dish of jelly / the slanted cheekbones of the ocean. Upon the scales of metal fishes / I read the new lips’ attitude. / But could you / now / ...»