It isn´t often I live really, you
For hours now in my kitchen have been opening
The immigrant (with many papers) oysters and
With a hurting hand in a plastic apron

Singing. Take the Wolfs, all they can think
Of nowadays is eating, which they do,
Like everything they do, in depth. They‘ re human beings.
And I, with a lot of lemon, I anaesthetize

The naked little creatures then my palate
And swallow glumly. You meanwhile, with gusto and
Disgust, have slurped two dozen of these
Small cunts of the sea. Well then, I say

Let life melt in the mouth, a life
Between appetite and loathing, yes.

translated by David Constantine