Oh bottle without wine! oh wine the widower of this bottle!
Afternoon when the dawn of the afternoon
flamed fatally in five spirits.
Widowhood without bread or grime, finishing in hideous metalloids
and in oral cells ending.Oh always, never to find the never of so much always!
oh my good friends, a cruel deceit,
partial, piercing our truncated
volatile, frolicful grief!The sublime, low perfection of the pig,
gropes my customary melancholy!
Adz sounding in dreams,
adz
asinine, inferior, betrayed, lawful, thief,
lowering and groping what used to be my ideas!You and he and they and everyone,
nevertheless,
inserted at the same time into my shirt,
into my shoulders wood, between my femurs, little sticks;
you particularly,
having influenced me;
he, futile, reddened, with money,
and they, winged drones of another weight.Oh bottle without wine! oh wine the widower of this bottle!
16 September 1937
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