Fat trains go down loud tracks
Past houses, which are like coffins. 
On the corners wheelbarrows with bananas squat. 
Just a bit of shit makes a tough kid happy. 
The human beasts glide along, completely lost
As though on a street, miserably gray and shrill. 
Workers stream from dilapidated gates. 
A weary person moves quietly in a round tower. 
A hearse crawls along the street, two steeds out front,
Soft as a worm and weak. 
And over all lies an old rag—­
The sky... pagan and meaningless.

Into the Evening

Out of crooked clouds priceless things grow. 
Very tiny things suddenly become important. 
The sky is green and opaque
Down there where the blind hills glide. 
Tattered trees stagger into the distance. 
Drunken meadows spin in a circle,
And all the surfaces become gray and wise... 
Only villages crouch glowingly:  red stars—­

Interior

A large space—­half dark... deadly... completely confused... 
Provocative!... delicate... dream-like... recesses, heavy doors
And broad shadows, which lead to blue corners... 
And somewhere a sound that clinks like a Champagne glass. 
On a fragile rug lies a wide picture book,
Distorted and exaggerated by a green ceiling light. 
How—­soft little cats—­piously white girls make love! 
In the background an old man and a silk handkerchief.

Morning

...  And all the streets lie smooth and shining there.  Only occasionally does a solid citizen hurry along them.  A swell girl argues violently with Papa.  A baker happens to be looking at the lovely sky.  The dead sun, wide and thick, hangs on the houses.  Four fat wives screech in front of a bar.  A carriage driver falls and breaks his neck.  And everything is boringly bright, healthy and clear.  A gentleman with wise eyes hovers, confused, in the dark, A failing god... in this picture, that he forgot, Perhaps did not notice—­he mutters this and that.  Dies.  And laughs.  Dreams of a stroke, paralysis, osteoporosis.

Landscape

(for a picture)
With all its branches a slender tree casts
The shine of darkness around poor crosses. 
The earth stretches out painfully black and broad. 
A small moon slips slowly out of space. 
And next to it strange, unapproachable, huge
Airplanes hover heavenward! 
Sinners filled with longing look up, with belief
And tear themselves out of their tombs.

The Concert

The naked seats hearken strangely
Alarming and quiet, as though there were some danger. 
Only some are covered with a person. 
A green girl often looks into a book. 
And someone else finds a handkerchief. 
And the boots are disgustingly encrusted. 
A sound comes from an old man’s open mouth. 
A young boy looks at a young girl. 
A boy plays with the button on his trousers. 
On a podium an agile body rocks
To the rhythm of its serious instrument. 
On a collar lies a shiny head. 
Screeches.  And tears.