Mocked, Acclimatized to the Good, Morbid, Tormented
(For Spanish translation click here)

Mocked, acclimatized to the good, morbid, tormented,

I double over in the extremity of being worldly and play cups,

where the destinies end up in flies,

where I eat and drink what’s cleaning me out.

Monumental pinch,

numeral bier, those of my debt,

those of my unpaid balance, when I fall exceedingly,

loudly, livid.

The lowest depth, then

it’s time to moan with the ax,

and it’s then the year of the sob,

the day of the ankle,

the night of the rib, of the pained respiration.

Sterile qualities, monotonous satans,

leap from the flank,

from the flank of my substitute mare;

but, where I eat, how much I think!

but, how much I drink where I weep!

Well, that’s life, life

being what it is, way over there, behind

the infinite, thus, spontaneously

before the legislative temple.

Thus the string lies buried at the violin’s base,

when they speak of the air, when

very leisurely they speak of lightning.

The wrong cause thus doubles, we take turns

three by three in unity, thus

one plays cups

and those who fold match my bet,

the destinies end up in bacteria

and one owes all to all.

7 October 1937