Live life
without a car.
Be slower than a trolley bus.
...
Inside me a little bit of
a blue Christmas begins.
In the hotel room it's snowing
...
For a while I hesitated,
at the place where one enters.
And then so many mirrors
...
An infirmary of flowers of the field
in a vase.
So many of the white
...
Diacritical signs
of immortal Dio
appear in the sky.
...
Inside the typewriter
and on the printer's block
poems have died
...
In the fading lustre
of the hotel Alcron, Prague
I watch
...
It's getting dark in the revues,
in the carmined eyes of the dancers,
in the centre of the cleavage
...
Planes got it into their heads
that they were better than ships,
but pride comes before a fall.
...
Somewhere it's lit up
as if a misty memory
lights up in me
...