The flesh of our soul

To flirt with scandal

And end up in death

Lost in marbled sheets of text

Our mortal tomb-like dreams of stone

The bourgeois room of centuries past

As long as rent goes up like this

We’ll hunger for trinkets, not food

No wish-fulfillment ever could

I‘m jealous of what lies beyond

the gold, the princess,

crown and palace,

With wishes as private as God

Division of labor

I seal off my psyche

I‘m always too tired to help

A Ruthless historicity

still gnaws at the flesh of our soul

An elderly penniless nobleman tells us

A truth that we don‘t want to know

Exploring the relationship 

of potency to class

You probs won‘t get that dick to work

Unless you‘re making cash 

Sexual comedy

Bonus of pleasure

The Object of hunger for duels

A desire to desire

Or a wish not to wish

My tears roll with infinite jest