I wrote these lines soon after I was expelled from Heaven;
they had kept my cloths at the door and the weathervane
which I killed when I was young still came and harassed
The smell of wine in my breath stunk and made them step
aside, no one neared me, although I had in my head the key
of the castle and I was occasionally frightened by the thuds
of the broken chandeliers.
I was looking for a corner and a candle in the fog and all
Marias who could be laid so fast that they never sinned;
ah, how much I loved them on the dirty beds, while their
sharp nails ripped the night like flashes of the Grace of God.
I don’t remember but the face of the night watchman who
grabbed me by the neck; soon after the woman raised me
and placed me deep in her eyes and, in the autumnal light,
we returned to the city where a barbarous crowd was running
after the eternally lost game.