Uncleaned teeth Poem by Marcel Beyer

Sleep where I didn't sleep. So many hands on the
handle, at the basin and what was beneath it. Soon such weak
breathing, no sleep. What could have been, should
have been, what remains between my teeth, what it

tastes of. Sleep of the aroused, of the awakened.
What curtain of rain, someone else's dust and spittle, what
half-snow up to the shirt. So many hands on the

kitchen table, at the window, no sleep. What someone else's grease
at the radiator, the range, such clear darkness and what should
have been asleep. Thus I walk through sleet, in January
with teeth again uncleaned, where I didn't sleep.

Translation: Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock, 2004