Translation:The City (Lichtenstein)

The City A white bird is the great sky. Crouching straight under him, there stares a city. The houses are half-dead old people.

Morosely a thin carriage horse gapes, And winds, meagre dogs, run a dreary race. Their skins squeak at the sharp corners.

In a street groans a madman: You, oh, you – When I finally, my beloved, find thee. . . A crowd around him marvel and grin full of mockery.

Three little people playing blind man's buff – Everwhere gray powder lays its hands. The afternoon, a gentle tearstained God.


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