Ah Manhattan, with your condominiums
Taller than Tuscan hills and hilltop towns,
With your mighty columns, none in ruin!
I stood inside you with just boxers on
Battling words and silence; from the radiators,
Siphons let out steam superbly
Into the one’s and my one room.
She insisted on sincerity; I, on truth:
In the blast, blades were ultimately produced.
I left like a missile from Baikonur.
Judging from my feelings now and what I see,
Contemporary history begs more humour!
I shall retire to the Black Forest,
Do time amid the pine and books.