the more the fertility of the sleeves grows
the more you pick up lakes of sweet-water
without having received any invitation-card
and without touching them
don’t you know the chimneys
of the child-hospital
are still very much serious
even they have banned
the movements of the lips
of the cold lamp-stand
if the lassie of the afternoon blooms late
then does it carry any un-time
to the plum and date-plam
even-then no working-day
has been gone wasted
in the plant of manufacturing rose-petals
in every park of the town there fly
the afternoon-songs composed
by the balconies
the saleable masks by and by get tired
in the wind that is bound by promises
twenty-one moons hide themselves
in the student-hostel
you may call them public
you may call them mass
how would they go bankrupted
within so much awakenings
