Whatever will be will be--it's all the same to me:
The patent leather shoe Hurts me. And I take it off--
People might turn around, surprised.
Only it's a shame about my silk socks...

Smoke on the Field

Lene Levi went out in the evening,
Mincing, her skirt bunched up,
Through the long, empty streets
Of a suburb.

And she spoke weeping, aching, crazy,
Strange words,
Which the wind tossed, so that they popped,
Like pods.

They made bloody scratches on trees,
And, shredded, hung on houses
And in these deaf streets
died all alone.

Lene Levi went out, until all
The roofs made their crooked mouths grimace,
And the windows and the shadows
Made faces

They had a completely drunken good time--
Until the houses became helpless
And the mute city passed
Into the broad fields,
Which the moon smeared...

Little Lene took out of her pocket
A box of cigarettes,
Weeping took one
Out and smoked.

Dreaming

Paul said:

Ah, but who wouldn't want to drive a car forever--
We burrow our way through high-stemmed woods,
We pass by spaces that seem endless.
We pass through the wind and attack the towns, which speed up.
But the odors of the sluggish cities are hateful to us--
Ah, we are flying! Always alongside death...
How we despise and scorn him who sits on our lives!
Who lays out graves for us and makes all streets crooked--ha, we
laugh at him,
and the roads, overcome, die with us--
Thus we shall auto our way through the whole world...
Until, on some clear evening
We find a violent ending against a sturdy tree.

The Sad Man

No, I have no capacity for life.
I could be considered foolish--
Today I am not going to the restaurant.
I am after all this time weary of the waiters,
Who scornfully bring us, with their smug grimaces,
Dark beer and make us so confused
That we cannot find our home
And we must
Use the foolish street lights
To prop ourselves up
with weak hands.
Today I have bigger things in mind--
Ah, I shall find out the meaning of existence.
And in the evening I shall do some roller skating
Or go at some point to Temple.

Capriccio

Here is the way I shall die:
It's dark. And it has rained.
But you can no longer detect the imprint of the clouds
Which up there cover the sky in soft silk.
All streets are flowing, black mirrors,
Over