Danube glides about my house.
Dame Danube, she is so nice!
The orange blades and lighters
in her pockets, mild as may -
Jewels from the dead.
What is so real as the cry of a rabbit?
An infant's cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Water can cure everything, so Danube says.
Water is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice.
O Danube, Danube
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My chinese polyester, desperate butterflies,
May be confiscated any minute, left hanging.
And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand my body to cool your reactors.