IV
What I could What I must What I ought to
What I wanted Why I yielded
Why do lost causes interest me
Gloria victis as a certain good lady writes
In the wagon carrying Romuald Traugutt
The sun stands still on the zenith 0 belated knowledge
Error breeds error It is a river of errors
Neither triumph nor death Displaced in time
And a false note in self-examination
Our truth lasts as long as the scent
Of perfume in a smoky cafe Our truths
In a world without truth Misleading sea
V
The nineteenth century was too solid
Too heavy to explode
It hasn't left yet It's still crumbling
No longer do dreams rule in us
The dead the weightier It's in
This wainscoting these candelabra And it's
In rest rooms now decorated with new
Information columns of numbers announcements phallic
symbols
Degraded underground streams
Of anarchy That's the nineteenth century
Arranging its pencils and quills
The old seek revenge for long hidden desires
