Distract the hysterical metropolis,
urbanite, rinse your gut
with spring water, be lenient know
meaninglessness is what I need.

Arrest your mastering grope
the internal harmonium, press a face
you have never seen before out of your brain,
you have remained a dreaming foetus.

Lie down in the grass,
stand up, hack an infant's hand
or a cathedral out of a cliff.

Answer the horses when they ask
will you really lose your love
if you rediscover yourself?

Urbanite, lie down in the grass,
quietly find the god concealed within you,
grasp him and strip him to his empty core,
then go back home, lay on a
meal for no one in particular.

Or stay calm, keep lying there,
wait without expectation
until your name has faded away
with the memories of it.

Translated by David Colmer