taking in and thinking, eating every day.

Still it would be marvelous

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,

into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,

The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.

letting out yells until I died of the cold.

dirty tears are falling.

shops,

It so happens thread.99csw.comat I am sick of my feet and my nails

I dont want to go on being a root in the dark,

and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,

The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,

insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,

with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,

my rage, forgetting everything,

and it howls o九-九-藏-書n its way like a wounded wheel,

I dont want to go on as a root and a tomb,

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse

and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:

night.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines

half frozen, dying of grief.

cords.

alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,

dried up, waterproof, li九*九*藏*書ke a swan made of felt

houses

into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,

to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,

Translated by Robert Bly

going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,

or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.

hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,

I dont want so much misery.

to go through the streets with a green knife

steering my rｅａd.99ｃsｗ.comway in a water of wombs and ashes.

there are mirrors

houses,

no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic

and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

underwear, towels and shirts from which slow

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist

It so happens I 九九藏書am sick of being a man.

And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie

Thats why Monday, when it sees me coming

and my hair and my shadow.

and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the

there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical

that ought to have wept from shame and terror,

It so happens I am sick of being a man.

It would be great

sobs.