today there is a nerve of insanity in me,
a warped guide to the world;
the small amount which leaves is a truth.

i am crossing the town of rain,
in an ill-humored youth,
an unlucky stage of moping.

but you feel the rain on my surfaces.
an improvement from miserable numbness.

you are moved by me,
by my small eccentric life;
you think of scars.

you are a kind of music that makes words.
--

the snow falls
like incomprehensible creation.
it is attached as the air to my
suit of trembling.

i laugh, facing a certain dying.
i would like to walk in permanent snow.
i am still at the part where falling is best,
the part that possesses sleep
in the time of rest.