the brilliant dull poet
enters the room

the chamber is brimming with tension
silken girls on beanbags of rough cloth
molding each other's bodies with skillful fingers

the brilliant dull poet
takes a folder from his bag
a resounding silence ensues

he reads:

it rains and rains
but an umbrella doesn't help
because it is raining from below
from inside the earth
some say the earth is crying
I don't believe that
to my mind it's pissing
on people

the flickering flame of the candle glowing in the window
the brilliant dull poet measures up with a jaded glance
his young and lusty audience and the cozy room
where the pot smoke curls beneath the ceiling in cheerful streams
and patterns

and takes his umbrella and goes
today he must still arrive
he's unsure
where or why

but he knows he must

not many know that

Translation: Eric Dickens