Again sick.

Just now somehow paler.

Saxophone riff carrying blues along spiral

In undrawn curtain twilight—

This keen light—

X-ray or ultra-sound screen—

With its eddying silhouette

More rarefied than tedious.

Above the spool of the intestines

Scheme of channels and sluices—

A dim angel, abandoned god,

Lit up by rotating blues.

Syncope flash

Forces your eyes open.

Translated by Dennis Silk