清晨，把所有穿过天空的轨道从一颗星切换到另一颗星，把街道的尽头连接成一列光明的火车。现在把我们拉到白天的床上;清除压在大脑上的东西:把那些飘浮、膨胀、耀眼的霓虹灯形状，粉红色和黄色的字母和抽搐的标志，放在眼睛之间的灰色大道上。宿醉的月亮，减弱，减弱!透过窗户，我看到一座巨大的城市，被精心地展现出来，做工精致，一个细节接一个细节，一个檐口接一个立面，如此慵倦地伸向苍白的天空，它似乎在那里动摇。(它在水玻璃般的天空中慢慢生长，从铁和铜结晶的熔合珠中生长出来，罐子里的小小化学“花园”颤抖着又站了起来，呈现出淡蓝色、蓝绿色和砖色。)麻雀匆忙地开始了它们的游戏。然后，在西部，“轰!”和一团烟雾。“轰!”然后爆炸的花球再次绽放。(所有在工厂工作的员工，如果听到“危险”或曾经说过“死亡”的声音，他们会在睡梦中转过身来，感到脖子后面的短毛竖了起来。) The cloud of smoke moves off. A shirt is taken of a threadlike clothes-line. Along the street below the water-wagon comes throwing its hissing, snowy fan across peelings and newspapers. The water dries light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern of the cool watermelon. I hear the day-springs of the morning strike from stony walls and halls and iron beds, scattered or grouped cascades, alarms for the expected: queer cupids of all persons getting up, whose evening meal they will prepare all day, you will dine well on his heart, on his, and his, so send them about your business affectionately, dragging in the streets their unique loves. Scourge them with roses only, be light as helium, for always to one, or several, morning comes whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed, whose face is turned so that the image of the city grows down into his open eyes inverted and distorted. No. I mean distorted and revealed, if he sees it at all.