(with my libertine relation to reality)
Am a kind of perfection.
Golden dreams of the avant-garde,
Victory of a useless complication,
A girl turned into a washing machine,
The cut up body,
Strewn across the desert –
This is what we fought for,
This is the kingdom,
That prevailed over fascism,
I am your victory.
I don’t need attention,
I don’t demand love,
We’re fair and square with the universe,
It owes me no favor.
I am the made-up perfection,
I am the infinity of made-up perfections,
That demand infinite upkeep,
I am, what I am
I am, what I know
I am, what I’ve fought for,
I am, what I turn away from,
I am, what I’m facing toward
I am, what has been ascribed to me,
I am, what slides past unnoticed.
This is the only intimate plea that I can make,
Take me out of literature,
And ready me for love.
© translated by Jasmin B. Frelih