You destroyed all letters.
You burned the heavenly garden. 
Lot’s wife, Ahmed,
tiny little mouth.
 
Das ist Mercedes Benz.
Jetzt ist zu spät. 
Did Glinka shake from his sleeve                               
Glinka, limping?
 
Furore is a feeble little brother, says Ashka.
 
A carnal king stepped out of a slop-pail.
His little chest rubbed itself.     
In his head he had set a big aquamarine
with the elevator, overgrown with grass.
 
Sometimes I go on the terrace and scream,
move on, move on, move on, Ashka!
 
The joy to see the carnal king
with the set aquamarine in his head
with the elevator overgrown with grass
is so wonderful, I vomit.