I'm waiting for something bad to happen,
my emotions are often a troop of horses
on a huge motorway,

I'm getting thin in the dark
until I turn into a lamp wicker,
watching the monsters of creation
and Judas detached from an engraving,
kissing to the left and right,

The God at my neck isn't involved
in these small and unimportant things,
though sometimes in the morning
he asks me
what I've written good and worthy to read
for the weird world,
caught in the letter
like in a fish hook.

I'm waiting for something bad to happen
with all the belvederes in the station,
with the naughty hips of the defiant young girls
as some big and dangerous birds,

I'm alive,
I've got my own battle,
I'm so cute.