Again the honey has gone bad,
Taken into the house on the hem of a dress.
There’s a hint of grey and a taste of chintz
And something sizzles magically inside: what?
I stick my wide-open eyes in,
But still can’t see anything.
My rejoicing turns out to be nothing,
Adorning the days with banners of peals of laughter.
Only an unknowing sadness rises from me like smoke –
And I can’t say in anyone’s presence
How my piteous sleep
Is lashed by razor-sharp shrieks,
Because every night
I wave myself about like a hatchet,
So that I can cut off as fast as possible
And again for something’s sake,
Day that’s been endured.