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I am a man with no ambitions
And few friends, wholly incapable Of making a living, growing no Younger, fugitive from some just doom. Lonely, ill-clothed, what does it matter? At midnight I make myself a jug Of hot white wine and cardamon seeds. In a torn grey robe and shapeless hat, I sit in the cold writing poems, Drawing naked figures in the crooked margin, Fornicating with the insatiable Virgins of my imagination. [translated by Kenneth Roxroth, amended by Jamie Chadwick] Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |