Out of fairytales we step with debts.
New ones, complicating lots of things.
Are they facts that tolerate no redress
and no opposition? In my dream I heard
the shallow breath my breast brought forth.
In life and in love that's bared
imbecilic blood isn't rare - new inklings
of meaning are rubbed off the face in the morning.
One knows the nature of things.
Connotations are almost smothered
under superficial morals: a liquid curdles
only when it's blood, everything else races
towards gravity. After the seductions
and soft sheets we dream of facts.

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock