Don’t cry Eva since there’s a lack of space
for your feminine tears.
Down Love Street the wind howls
among shattered panes.
Look: Poets’ exquisite truths
have dissolved in games.
In empty liquor bottles S.O.S. notes
are sent out to the world.
Farewell to You. Now I know
urgent tasks will remain when I die.
I go alone, indeed where
other souls await me.
For years I’ve had a few friends there--
for them I always sing, I play for them.
One more time: Farewell to You.
We won’t meet again.
The prose of life’s a friendly creeping death;
the thin thread snaps.
TV, furnishings, a little Fiat—
behold the summit of dreams.
Hey prophets of my angry years,
You’re overgrown with fat.
Now wealth has You in its claws.
Betrayals flow from your mouth.